


The Spider Prince and the Morning Star

by Traincat



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 02:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12739476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traincat/pseuds/Traincat
Summary: “Folks like to say there’s a monster that lives in the forest,” Old Swenson said the next day when Johnny told him his story. Johnny worked in his shop, when Swenson could afford to pay him. He fixed things, clocks and broken carriages. Johnny wasn’t good for much, but he had a hand for repairs. “And that it’ll grant you wishes, for a price. Folks will say anything, after a drink or five. Don’t listen to that kind of foolish talk, Johnny.”When Johnny makes a deal with the monster that lives in the woods – himself for his sister’s happiness – he doesn’t expect the giant spider to take him to a beautiful castle, or to reveal himself a cursed prince. There’s only one catch: he’s only a man in the darkest night, and Johnny can never see his face.





	The Spider Prince and the Morning Star

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the 2017 Spideytorch Big Bang! I've wanted to write an East of the Sun, West of the Moon AU forever, and then I rewatched the Polar Bear King and made one tweet about that fairy tale, but with Peter as a giant tarantula, and, well, I shouldn't joke about things on twitter, basically. Alternatively: American Son, if American Son was a fairy tale and also about how Johnny Storm and Peter Parker should kiss.
> 
> Huge thank you to my artists, who both took my words and made stunning, beautiful pictures out of them! 
> 
>  
> 
> [Art by johnny-storms-hair](http://johnny-storms-hair.tumblr.com/post/167534105069/heres-the-art-i-did-for-traincats-story-the)  
> [Art by Pariah's Dream](https://pariah-arts.tumblr.com/post/167537806467/spideytorch-big-bang-art-time-these-are-for)
> 
>  
> 
> In other news, I definitely suck at estimating how long things are going to be.
> 
> Warnings for Norman Osborn being creepy/a brief assault scene.

There was once a family by the name of Storm who lived by the darkest forest, in a land where the snow fell nearly all year round. They had been happy, once upon a time. But then Mary Storm died and Franklin Storm grew cold. He gambled his daughter’s dowry away before he too passed, and it was just the siblings Storm, alone in their house at the edge of the woods.

Johnny barely remembered what it had been like, before. All he knew was that it had always been him and his older sister, together in the little house by the edge of the woods. He couldn’t say he was unhappy, but he didn’t know enough about happiness to claim that, either. He simply was, existing from bleak snowy day to bleak snowy day with no hope of change.

And then Sue met Reed. He and his companion Ben had been overtaken by a blizzard, and they’d sought shelter at the inn. The inn, which was owned by Johnny and Sue’s last living relative, their aunt Marygay.

The first time Reed and Sue’s gazes met, it was obvious to Johnny what was going to happen, but then he’d always been a romantic.

Both of the Storms were known for their beauty, their hair like spun gold and their eyes blue as the clear sky. But Reed’s family was nobility, and Sue’s beauty was not enough for them. Reed’s father forbade the marriage.

Sue wept, but only on the first day. She’d always been the stronger of two them that way. On the second day, she picked herself up – but Johnny, Johnny was heartsick at watching his sister denied this happiness, too.

“It’ll be alright,” she told him, touching his cheek. “You’ll see, Johnny. It’ll all be alright in the end.”

Johnny wanted to believe that, but her eyes were too sad, and they had been alone too long.

 

* * *

 

There was the creature that lived in the woods. Johnny had always felt like there were things that lived in the woods, had been told so many times first by his father and then by Aunt Marygay, but it wasn’t until he was walking home from work one evening that he first saw it, a huge shape looming through the trees – one that was walking with him.

At first Johnny thought it was a bear, but it had too many legs and too many eyes. Once he saw it, it was like he was frozen; all he could do was stare. Through the branches he felt like the monster was staring back.

After a moment, it moved on and Johnny was left standing there, wondering what it was he had seen beyond the trees. What it was that had seen him.

“Folks like to say there’s a monster that lives in the forest,” Old Swenson said the next day when Johnny told him his story. Johnny worked in his shop, when Swenson could afford to pay him. He fixed things, clocks and broken carriages. Johnny wasn’t good for much, but he had a hand for repairs. “And that it’ll grant you wishes, for a price. Folks will say anything, after a drink or five. Don’t listen to that kind of foolish talk, Johnny.”

“It’s not foolish talk,” said Doris Evans, who had come in to have her father’s pocket watch repaired. Dorrie was pretty and well-off and Johnny had been in love with her when they’d been younger, not that anything more than a little secret fumbling had ever come of it. “I saw it through the trees! I called, but it wouldn’t come.”

“What do you have to wish for?” Johnny asked, and it came out sharper than he’d meant. Dorrie crossed her arms and turned up her nose. The secret fumbling had not ended well between the two of them, and old wounds still stung. Johnny half-wished he could take it back.

“It was a bear you saw,” Swenson told Dorrie, shaking his head. “You’re lucky it didn’t come when you called. You stay away from the woods now, both of you.”

Swenson waited until Dorrie left the shop to sigh at Johnny. Johnny bristled.

“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t feel it.

“You’re good at what you do, Johnny,” Swenson said. “But you can’t talk to the customers like that. Even if you know them.”

He nodded, pressing his lips together to keep from saying anything.

“Just keep your head down,” Swenson said, not unkindly. “There’s a good lad. You stay away from the forest.”

Johnny had never been very good at listening. That night, as he walked home, he felt as if something was watching him.

 

* * *

 

He left their little house in the middle of the night, while his sister slept soundly. The snow was deep, thick white flakes that stuck to his hair and his eyelashes, nearly blinding him. He kept going anyway. He could feel something deep within him – almost like a pull, leading him to the forest’s edge.

The monster was calling to him.

Something beyond the trees moved. Johnny let out a breath as it came into view: a giant spider, covered in thick dark hair. The spider stood nearly six feet tall. Johnny was eye-level with its face, its fangs and its many eyes. His knuckles were white around the branch he held.

“Don’t be afraid,” the spider said. It had a man’s voice; quiet, confident. “I haven’t come here to hurt you or your sister.”

“What do you want?” Johnny asked. This was breaking the rules already – he remembered his mother reading him stories when he’d been very young. You weren’t supposed to speak to strange things in the forest. It was how they worked their magic on you.

But he couldn’t help it.

“What’s your name?” the spider asked.

“John.” This was another broken rule. You didn’t give otherworldly things your given name. “Johnny, everyone – everyone calls me Johnny.”

“What do _you_ want, Johnny?” the spider asked.

“In the village,” Johnny said. It was hard to get the words out. It was hard not to run. “They say you can grant wishes.”

“I can,” said the spider. “For a price.”

“I don’t care,” Johnny said, thinking of Sue’s slumped shoulders and sad eyes, of the life she could have instead. What was he, in the face of that? “I’ll do anything.”

The spider made a soft noise, almost like a sigh.

“What do you want?” it asked again.

“I want my sister to be happy,” Johnny answered. “I want her to have everything she’s ever wanted.”

The spider considered him with its many glimmering eyes. Johnny stood tall and waited, trying to not let his shaking hands show.

“I will return for you in one week,” the spider said. “If you come with me then, your sister will have riches beyond her wildest dreams.”

“That’s all?” Johnny said. “I just have to go with you?”

“That’s all,” the spider said. “One week. I’ll be waiting here for you at nightfall.”

It turned and moved back towards the trees. Johnny watched the spider leave, until he could no longer see its hulking form. Then he turned and trudged home, stumbling through the high snow. He practically fell on Sue when she opened the door.

“Oh, Johnny,” she said, holding him close. “Johnny, what happened? Did you --?”

“No,” he said, clutching at her. “No, Sue – it spoke to me. The monster in the forest, it spoke to me.”

And then he couldn’t help it; he started laughing. It spilled from his lips and he couldn’t stop, not until his chest was shaking with it. He took Sue’s face between his hands and kissed her on the forehead before he dropped his head down against her shoulder.

“It’s all going to be okay now,” he promised. “I’m going to fix it, Sue. You’ll have everything – you’ll marry Reed, and his family won’t be able to say anything. It’ll be perfect.”

“Johnny,” Sue said in a hushed voice. “What did you do?”

“I made a deal,” Johnny said, closing his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Sue tried to talk him out of it. She pleaded. She threatened. She bargained with him. She lied, saying she’d never wanted to marry Reed Richards in the first place, that she fancied a fisherman instead. It all rolled off him. As soon as he’d heard the spider speak, he’d known that this was the answer.

Sue would be happy. That was what mattered.

He’d never stood a chance, really, had he? Not the way Sue did. Better, then, to go with the monster. Better to strike the deal. After all, there was no lord waiting to fall in love at the first glimpse of his eyes.

“Don’t do this,” Sue said, holding onto his hand on the night he was supposed to meet the spider. “Whatever it promised you, it’s not worth it.”

He turned and took her in, his sister in her old dress, the one she’d mended again and again, on the threshold of their tiny home, and then he leaned in and kissed her on the forehead.

“It’ll be alright, Sue,” he promised as he let go of her hand and stepped out into the snow. He only let himself glance back once.

It was a long trudge through the heavy snow, and several times he stumbled. Once he fell and caught himself on his hands and knees and for a long moment he stayed there, his own breathing loud in his ears. It would be so easy to go back, to the little hearth in the little home he’d known his whole life. Sue wouldn’t be upset with him; she’d stroke his hair and tell him that it would all be alright. He might even believe her, for a little while.

“Get up,” he told himself. “Get up, you miserable coward.”

Slowly, he staggered to his feet. Then it was just the matter of putting one foot in front of the other, of ignoring his pounding heart and the miserable chill of the air, until he reached the edge of the forest.

The spider was waiting, just beyond the trees. Its eight eyes glittered like stars in the dark.

“Well?” Johnny said. “Here I am. I held up my end of the bargain. What now?”

“Now you come with me,” the spider said.

“And my sister?” Johnny said. “She’ll have everything you promised?”

“And more,” the spider said. “Climb on my back. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“Afraid of the giant spider who is probably going to eat me?” Johnny scoffed, clambering up on the spider’s back. His hands were shaking; the spider’s hairy back bristled under his palms. He wished he had gloves to protect him from having to touch the thing’s hairy back. Instead, his frozen fingers sought out the spider’s warmth. “Why would I be afraid of that?”

The spider made a noise Johnny would almost call a snort. “I’m not going to eat you.”

“I think that’s what all the talking spiders say,” Johnny said, “right before they eat you.”

The spider made that strange noise again. This time Johnny was sure it was laughter.

They walked for a very long time. Johnny was glad the spider had told him to get on its back; they had left in the evening, and it was dark as midnight by the time they reached their destination. The spider was warm like a man, but even it couldn’t chase the cold away.

A white castle rose up through the trees, like a dream. For a second, Johnny thought that was what it must be. But he could feel the bristle of the spider’s hair underneath his hands and feel the chill wind on his face, catching in the back of his throat.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Home,” said the spider.

“ _That’s_ where you live?” Johnny said.

The castle had looked larger from a distance, but it was still impressive. Its walls were made of smooth white stone, so pale it blended in with the snow around them. The spider lowered itself to the ground as they approached and Johnny slipped off its back, staring up in wonderment.

When he glanced back down there was a woman waiting in the doorway. She was grey-haired with a friendly face.

“Hello, darling,” she said as they approached. It took Johnny a moment to realize she was speaking to the spider.

“It’s cold out here, Aunt May,” the spider said, sounding almost chiding.

“And you without a sweater,” the woman said, ushering them inside as Johnny slipped from the spider’s back. She took Johnny’s hands in her own; stunned, he let her. “You must be frozen through, poor thing. Come in, sit down. Have you eaten?”

“I, um,” Johnny said, stunned. The last thing he’d expected to see when they’d reached the spider’s home was a kind-faced old woman. She tugged his coat from his shoulders, hanging it up, and ushered him closer to the fire. He extended his chilled fingers towards it gratefully.

“Of course he hasn’t, Aunt May,” the spider said, turning and leaving through another set of doors. Johnny caught a glimpse of a long, dark hallway before they closed behind it.

“Feh,” a new voice scoffed. There was an old man seated by the table, a blanket spread over his knees. “Always running off, that one.”

“Leave him be, Nathan,” said the woman – the spider had called her May. “You know how difficult it is for him.”

“How difficult he’s made it for you,” Nathan corrected. “He doesn’t help, does he, with all that skulking around? And now he’s brought this poor boy in from the cold with him. He’ll make a bad end of it, May.”

“I don’t understand,” Johnny said as the old lady fussed him into a chair. “Where is this? Who are you?”

“I’m his aunt, dear,” the old woman said, smiling kindly. “And I’m afraid you’re very far from home.”

 

* * *

 

The spider’s aunt gave him a meal – thick hot stew and freshly baked bread, better than Johnny had ever tasted before – and then she led him down a dark hallway with only a candle held aloft to light their way. At the end of the hall she opened a door and gestured for him to enter.

The bedroom was like something out of a story book, larger than Johnny’s entire house. Everything was made of dark wood and royal blue velvet. The bed was hung with rich crimson drapes. There was a fire roaring in the fireplace here too; Johnny held his hands out, savoring the warmth.

“Is this all for me?” he asked, turning to the old woman, but she was gone. The door had shut silently behind her.

The room was empty, save for him. He checked – behind the curtains and those crimson drapes, where the bed looked soft and inviting, and so much larger than Johnny’s own – but he was entirely alone.

It made him shiver. He wondered where the spider was.

There was a large bookshelf on one side of the room, and next to it there was a plush armchair. Johnny perused the titles for a little while – mostly, they were books on science, stars and navigation and biology, but tucked amongst the bottom shelf there were novels and a collection of fairy tales so old its pages were nearly falling out. Johnny, having changed out of his traveling clothes and into the nightshirt he’d found hanging in the wardrobe, took that and read for a while in front of the fire, tracing fading delicate illustrations and smiling where the margins were dotted with a child’s scrawl. The notes amused him – little complaints about true love’s kiss and dashing knights. Whoever had written them had been a very serious child.

The fire suddenly sputtered and died, plunging the room into shadow. Try as he might, Johnny couldn’t get it started again.

The entire castle suddenly seemed shrouded in darkness. Eventually, with nothing else to do in the dark, he fumbled the book shut and retired to bed, sliding gingerly beneath the covers. The bed was soft, but Johnny was restless, and he tossed and turned, feeling very alone in the middle of the huge mattress. He finally curled in on himself, pulled the covers up nearly over his head, and shut his eyes.

The door creaked.

Johnny sat up and only just barely saw the silhouette of a man before the door closed, leaving them in total darkness. The bed dipped.

“Hello again,” the man said.

“Again?” Johnny said, stunned. He shifted backwards.

“My name is Peter,” the strange man said. “You’ve met me before.”

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Johnny said.

“You do. Think much larger and hairier,” Peter said, a laugh in his voice. “With eight legs and eyes.” There was a pause. “I just wiggled my fingers in the air, but you can’t see that, of course. Sorry.”

It took Johnny a moment to catch on. “You’re the spider.”

“I am the spider,” the man confirmed. His voice was the same, now that Johnny was listening to it. “And the spider is the man.”

“I don’t understand,” Johnny said.

“I’m cursed, to put it simply,” said Peter. “Just call it my luck. By the day, I’m the spider you saw. But as soon as the clock strikes midnight…”

The bed dipped as he sat down on the opposite side from Johnny.

“So which are you, really?” Johnny asked. “The spider or the man?”

There was a long pause, and then Peter said, “I was both, once.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Johnny asked.

“Because you made a deal,” Peter said. That wasn’t what Johnny had meant.

“Why are you here?” Johnny asked. “Now?”

It was a long moment before Peter spoke again. “I told you. Because I’m cursed.”

Johnny waited; when Peter had been a spider, he’d thought himself one kind of a sacrifice. Now that there was a man in his bed, he knew he was another.

He’d certainly tumbled people with less conversation beforehand, but he’d usually known their faces, and as far as he knew none of them had occasionally been giant spiders. It made a little difference, he thought.

But the expected touch never came. Instead Peter laid down, settling on his back. He wasn’t touching Johnny, but he wasn’t very far from him, either. Johnny could feel the heat of him in the dark.

He wondered if he was expected to make the first move, if this was part of the spider’s game.

“Are you going to sit up like that all night?” Peter asked around a yawn. “You’re pulling at the covers.”

Slowly, Johnny laid back down. Peter sighed, and turned over, and that was that. Johnny stared at the dark shape of him, barely visible in the dark, for hours, until he fell into a restless sleep.

He woke up alone. The room was bright with winter light, spilling across the floor. Everything felt like a dream. But there was still an impression on the other side of the bed, the blankets all askew.

 

* * *

 

The second night happened the same as the first: the clock struck and darkness fell, the fire dying away. Johnny was sitting up in bed when Peter appeared; again, he only caught the briefest glimpse of his silhouette before the door closed. He seemed wiry, strong shoulders and a narrow waist. A proud sort of posture. Defiant.

But then, Johnny had only caught a glance.

“Hello again,” he said, knees drawn up and arms crossed on top of them.

Peter seemed to hesitate near the bed. Johnny couldn’t see him in the darkness, but he could almost feel him, his wariness. It made him want to snort. What did Peter have to be wary about? Johnny was the one in the cursed spider’s bed.

“Hello,” he said, stilted. “I’m sorry, I thought you’d be asleep already.”

“So you were waiting, then,” Johnny said. “Until you thought I’d be asleep?”

Peter’s silence was damning.

“Is this your room?” Johnny asked instead, when it became apparent that Peter wouldn’t answer.

“I had one like it,” Peter said. “Once upon a time. In a different place.”

Johnny kept waiting for the bed to dip under Peter’s weight, but he was still standing by the side of the bed.

“It’s nice,” Johnny said. Peter didn’t reply. “Are you coming to bed again?”

“I’m trying to figure out how to explain,” Peter said, “but I can’t seem to find the words.”

“You’re cursed,” Johnny said. He moved back and pulled the covers down. “You gave my sister everything she wanted. Get in bed already, unless you plan to sleep on the floor.”

After a moment, Peter obeyed, moving cautiously under the covers. He kept a careful distance between them.

“Why can’t I see your face?” Johnny asked. He inched forward, towards Peter, reaching out in the dark. “You can’t be _more_ hideous than an eight-eyed beast…”

A hand caught his in the dark, warm and dry. Peter had long, strong fingers; he slotted them through Johnny’s and used his grip to pull him forward. Johnny gasped, just a little.

“You’d be surprised,” he said, something like a laugh in his voice.

“Don’t tell me you have eight eyes like this, too,” Johnny said.

“Only the usual two, I promise. Here,” Peter said, guiding Johnny’s hand. His skin was soft and warm, with just the faintest prickle of stubble at his jaw. “I know it’s not the same, but…”

Johnny traced careful fingertips over his features, across thick eyebrows and closed eyes – only two, as promised, but with heavy lashes – and down a prominent nose. He skirted past Peter’s lips, touching his chin instead. He couldn’t conjure up a picture of a whole face, but it was better than having nothing, he supposed.

“What color are your eyes?” he asked.

“Brown,” Peter said. “I’m not very interesting to look at, I’m afraid, but maybe that’s a benefit to this situation.”

Johnny had traced his way down Peter’s neck and now his hand rested on one solid shoulder. Johnny could feel the heat of his skin through his linen bed shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “I know it’s not – that it isn’t fair to you. If I could change it, I would. But we’re not playing by my rules.”

“Why did you pick me?” Johnny asked. “You did, didn’t you? A girl I know said she tried to speak to you.”

“Because,” Peter said, and now Johnny knew he wasn’t imagining it, the warmth in his voice. “You didn’t want anything for yourself.”

“Oh,” Johnny said, swallowing hard. He didn’t know that that was true. Peter made it sound so unselfish, but that wasn’t how it had felt to him.

“And because,” Peter said, touching his cheek. “I liked your face.”

 

* * *

 

He never saw Peter in the daytime. He never saw anyone in the daytime – there was always breakfast when he awoke, but May or Nathan never appeared until evening. It had been eerie, the first day, but two weeks in he was accustomed to the rhythm. He’d wake alone and lie there for a moment, always imagining the man who had slept beside him, the sheets still rumpled, the imprint of his head upon the pillow. Then, when he felt pathetic enough, he made himself get up and dress and go down to the kitchen. He’d eat alone, and then he’d go exploring.

There were many rooms in the spider’s castle. Empty bedrooms, all immaculately kept, though none as warm or richly decorated as the one he slept in with Peter. There was an abandoned ballroom, a dining room fit for a king with a huge oak table, and then there was the library, filled floor to ceiling with books.

Johnny had never been one for reading, but he spent hours in that library. The whole room felt like Peter, and it made Johnny feel like he was with him, even when he was alone.

In the evening, without fail, the spider’s aunt would appear no matter where in the castle Johnny was to tell him that dinner was ready, and that no, Peter would not be joining them. Not that Johnny had expected him to, stuck in that spider’s body until the stroke of midnight. Still, it might have lightened his mood to see a giant spider attempt to use a spoon.

After dinner, he entertained himself by writing long letters to his sister, but there was no one to post them, and he was afraid to ask if they could be sent for fear of being told no. Once, while he was writing in the library, he thought he heard the rustle of the spider’s legs, but there was nothing there when he looked.

It was lonely. He was lonely.

“I just wish I could see his face,” Johnny said one evening when the fire was starting to dwindle and Nathan had fallen asleep in his chair. “Just for a moment, even.”

“I know, dear,” May said with a sad little smile. “I wish I could see his face again, myself. It’s been years.”

“How many?” Johnny asked, propping his chin up on his hand.

“Too many,” May said, shaking her head.

Johnny hesitated for a long moment before he asked his next question. “Is he handsome?”

May glanced up from her needlework, amusement written all over her face.

“Well,” she said. “I hardly think I’m an impartial judge when it comes to my nephew.”

“What does he look like?” Johnny pressed. “He said he had brown eyes.”

May cut him a sly look and Johnny felt his face heat up.

“I’m only curious,” he said, glancing away.

“As you have every right to be about the man who comes to your bed every night,” May said evenly. She smiled pleasantly when Johnny glanced back at her. “I’m old, dear, not naïve.”

“It isn’t like that,” Johnny said, looking away again. It was the truth – Peter hadn’t touched him since that night, only slept beside him in that huge bed, his back to Johnny. They spoke, though, and Peter’s voice was rich and warm. He had a sharp wit and an easy laugh and there was something about him deep underneath, a kind of sadness so deep that Johnny felt like they might both drown.

“Yes,” May said, after a beat. “I think you would find him handsome.”

 

* * *

 

They played word games in the dark; Johnny was terrible at them, but he made Peter laugh, and that was enough for him.

Until it wasn’t.

Johnny kissed him first. It had to be that way – stupidly honorable Peter would never have done it, and Johnny, alone during the day, wanted to feel something at night. So at the end of one game, when the hour was very late and Johnny knew Peter was about to suggest they sleep, he touched a hand to Peter’s cheek, leaned in, and kissed him.

Peter sighed at the first brush of their lips.

“You don’t have to,” he said, breathing the words against Johnny’s cheek, but the way his hands flexed at Johnny’s waist did not speak of hesitance.

“You keep me in your bed,” Johnny teased, pulling at the laces on his own night shirt. He drew it over his head, leaving him bare. He thrummed all over with anticipation. “You sleep beside me every night. And,” he smiled to himself, “you said you liked my face.”

“I do,” Peter said. “I do, I do.”

Johnny kissed him again. That seemed to be all it took to break the spell – Peter surged against him, tangling his fingers in Johnny’s hair, taking control of the kiss. It was more than enough to leave Johnny breathless, clutching at Peter’s shoulders. Peter broke the kiss only to move on to Johnny’s cheek, down his jaw.

“You’re so lovely,” he said, voice full of awe.

“It’s too dark for you to see just how lovely I am,” Johnny replied, yanking playfully on Peter’s hair as he tipped his head back, welcoming the brush of Peter’s lips against his throat.

“I remember,” Peter said. “You, standing there, in the snow. The first time I saw you. I’ll always remember.” He kissed Johnny’s neck. “You looked so sad.”

“I’m not sad now,” Johnny said. He nearly knocked his nose into Peter’s eye, but then they were kissing again, and everything was alright.

“I’m glad,” Peter said, stroking Johnny’s sides. “I’m so glad.”

His fingers flexed, like he wanted to push Johnny down against the pillows, to climb on top of him and take him, but this was like the kiss, Johnny realized. Peter would kiss him all night, if he wanted, and he did – but he wanted all of Peter, too.

“Are enchanted princes built the same as mortal men?” Johnny asked, sliding a hand down Peter’s chest. He found his arousal, hot and heavy, and decided to tease. He traced the length of it lightly with his fingers, his touch teasing and full of promise.

“Been with many mortal men, have you?” Peter asked, breath picking up.

“Does that – does that make a difference?” Johnny asked, hand stilling. He was – he knew Sue didn’t like it, when he stayed out all night, but Johnny wanted so badly to _feel_. Someone else’s hands on him was always a fix, temporarily.

Still, he knew what people in town said about him.

“No, no difference,” Peter said, voice rough. “It’s just that spiders are jealous creatures.”

“I’m not in anyone’s enchanted castle but yours,” Johnny said. He circled his fingers around Peter’s shaft, stroking.

Peter’s hand closed over his, controlling the rhythm for a moment, before his fingers drifted to Johnny’s wrist.

“Lie down,” Peter said. Johnny did as he asked, reclining against the pillows. He stretched his arms above his head, leaving himself at Peter’s mercy. He laughed to himself, remembering thinking of Peter was a monster that first night. Things were so different now.

Peter learned him by touch, those long fingers skating down his chest and his sides, slipping down to caress his thighs. He huffed every time Johnny hummed or shifted or sighed, like he was cataloging what got the best reaction.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and a second later he pressed his lips to the center of Johnny’s chest, inching down.

“I wish I knew enough that I could say the same about you,” Johnny said.

“I’m alright, I suppose,” Peter said, in between kisses. He lingered on a sensitive spot. “No one’s ever run screaming – not while I look like this, anyway. But I don’t have a face like yours.”

“You feel nice,” Johnny murmured. Peter kissed his stomach, apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lips brushing Johnny’s skin. He whispered it so quietly that Johnny felt it as much as he heard it.

Johnny fumbled in the dark for him, pulling him up the length of his body so he could kiss him again. To have Peter naked above him was a thrill, but it wasn’t _enough_.

“Don’t be sorry,” he told him. “Do something about it.”

Peter’s movements were slow and deliberate and very careful, and he never fumbled, not once, even though they were in pitch darkness. The world seemed to narrow to just sensation – Peter’s lips and his warm hands, his oiled fingers. It felt like there was nothing in the world except for the two of them, moving together in bed.

“You can’t see better than I can, can you?” Johnny asked as Peter started to push into him – still so careful, even when Johnny urged him on.

“No, more’s the pity. I’d really like to see you right now,” Peter said. “No, it’s just – I’m a spider. You’re in my web. I don’t need to see when I can _feel_.”

Johnny shivered and sighed. “I wish I could see _you_.”

“I know,” Peter said. “I know, I know, I know. Me too.”

He didn’t know why he kept his eyes open, unable to see more than the faintest outline of Peter above him in the dull starlight streaming in through the windows, but he did, staring up at his shrouded face. He felt like Peter was looking back. He raised his hand to touch Peter’s face as Peter started to thrust, slow, shallow. Not enough. Not tonight.

His hand slid to grip the back of Peter’s neck. He tilted his chin up and arched his back and said, “Harder.”

Peter huffed with laughter and obeyed. “Like so?”

Johnny wondered if this was part of the spell – if Peter could only give him what he asked, or if this was just Peter. If Johnny would break the magic by asking. Peter would be gone in the morning, and Johnny wanted to feel him when he woke. He captured Peter’s mouth again, hard and bruising, and said, “No. _More_.”

“Please,” Peter said. The bed rocked with the force of his thrusts and Johnny tried in vain to stifle another moan. “Please – we’re alone in this part of the castle. If I can’t see you -- I want to hear you.”

They were alone. It was hard for Johnny to wrap his mind around it – never before had he had this much sheer space. Being loud wasn’t an option when he was sneaking around, fumbling in tavern backrooms with a work rough hand over his mouth, or when Francis Raye had hissed for him to be quiet when her father had come home unexpectedly. He’d spent the rest of that evening hidden underneath her bed.

But here – here in the huge bed, in this huge room, with Peter, Johnny didn’t have to hold back. He didn’t have to hide. After this, Peter wasn’t going to make him exit through the window, or leave him to do up his own pants. Peter wasn’t going to leave.

Not until morning, at least. He felt a pang at that, an ache in his chest. He didn’t want this to end; he clung to Peter’s shoulders, digging his fingers in.

But Peter would come back, he told himself. That was the difference. Peter would return the next night, and he could have this – this heat, this closeness – again, and the night after that, and the night after that, until – when? Forever?

It was that as much as the roll of Peter’s hips that made him moan.

“Johnny,” Peter said, reverently. It was the tone of his voice that did it as much as anything else, the sheer warmth in it, the bright spark of affection. His hand tightened at the back of Peter’s neck. It was old habit that he bit his lip as he came, murmuring Peter’s name over and over as Peter fucked him through it. Next time, he thought. Next time, he’d be louder for him, like Peter wanted. He almost laughed at the idea that there would be a next time.

 _What if I hadn’t gone with him?_ he thought. What if he’d never had this strange man, this cursed prince, this boy who made Johnny laugh, over him and inside him like this? What if he’d been a coward, turned around in the snow, and never had the chance to feel like this?

He almost laughed, then shuddered and gasped, head thrown back, as Peter spilled hot inside him.

Peter collapsed on top of him, his face buried in Johnny’s neck, and for a long moment they just breathed together. Johnny felt strange – different, like he was all lit up inside. Like if he snapped his fingers, there would be sparks. Enough light to see his lover’s face, maybe.

He wrapped his arms around Peter instead. He wanted to hold onto this feeling forever. He wanted to hold Peter forever.

“I’m sorry,” Peter murmured, breathless and still on top of Johnny. Johnny shivered when his lips brushed his throat. “It’s been a very long time and you’re very...” He broke off with a laugh, kissing Johnny’s neck. “You’re just very everything.”

Johnny hummed. “Is that your way of asking if it was good for me too?”

“Well?” Peter asked. “How does this enchanted prince stack up?”

“Oh,” Johnny breathed, grinning up into the dark. He curled his fingers in Peter’s thick hair. “I’m ruined for mortal men.”

Peter was silent for a few moments. His hand drifted slowly down the length of Johnny’s arm to twin their fingers together.

“I’m not sad now, either, you know,” he said.

Johnny pressed a kiss to the side of his head.

 

* * *

 

“How did you come to be cursed?” Johnny asked one night.

Peter sighed. “It’s a boring story, really.”

“Well, tell me your boring story,” Johnny said, curling closer towards him. Peter was very warm, and the room, with its fireplace that could not be lit once the supernatural darkness fell over the castle, grew chilly as the hours ticked on. “Maybe I’ll fall asleep.”

“Once upon a time,” Peter said, his voice full of nostalgia. “I lived in a kingdom. It was east of the sun and west of the moon, and if you tried until the end of your days you’d never find it.” His fingertips traced Johnny’s face, across his cheekbone, down the bridge of his nose. His thumb rested against his lower lip. “It was beautiful. As beautiful as you.”

“Flatterer,” Johnny accused fondly, running his hand up Peter’s solid chest. He wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck, moving to lie half on top of him. “What happened?”

“One day, a man arrived,” Peter said. “And he was brilliant. And I trusted him. And he betrayed me.”

Johnny kissed him. What else could he do? Peter kissed back, long and deep and full of sorrow.

“He had a son,” he confessed when their lips broke apart. “My best friend. My brother in all but blood. He was using him – he’d sworn him to a goblin princess. Harry thought he loved her, but he didn’t know the whole truth. I took the fall for him.”

Johnny reached up to touch him, to feel his expression; the tightly drawn brows and the deep line between them, the set of his frown. He wanted to badly to see him.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said, dragging his thumb across Peter’s cheek.

Peter ducked his head; their noses brushed, their breath mingled. Johnny traced his bottom lip, then his top, and Peter kissed his fingertips.

“Don’t be,” he said. “I have you, don’t I?”

“Yes,” Johnny said, breathless with it.

“And you are worth,” Peter said, with a quiet intensity Johnny felt in his very soul, “a hundred thousand kingdoms.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Johnny said, laughing. Peter’s arm tightened around him, though, and he didn’t say anything more, just hummed some song Johnny had never heard before.

He had a good voice; Johnny would have liked to hear him sing. He tried to picture Peter in his beautiful, faraway kingdom, younger and happier, the kind of man who _would_ sing, but he couldn’t conjure up a face.

“But because of this man, I can’t see your face,” Johnny said, palming Peter’s cheek as Peter pulled him in for a kiss.

“No,” Peter breathed softly between them. “I’m sorry.”

 

* * *

 

He missed home. He tried not to, but he did. He longed for it, for his sister, to know how she was faring. Peter had made him promises, but Johnny didn’t know if they had come true. And it was so lonely in Peter’s castle during the day, the empty halls ringing out with every step.

“Where do you go?” he’d asked one night in the dark. He grazed Peter’s jaw with his knuckles, tilting his face towards Johnny’s.

“I don’t want you to see me like that,” he said, a muscle jumping in his cheek.

“I don’t care,” Johnny said. “I don’t.”

Peter hadn’t answered, only pressed Johnny down against the bed and kissed him until he was breathless with it, until the only thing he could think of was Peter’s lips against his.

But then in the morning he always woke alone. His days felt like they were spent just waiting for that darkness to fall, for Peter to come back for him.

“I want,” Johnny said to him one night, but found he could not continue. The words felt like a betrayal on his tongue and for the life of him he did not know why.

“Oh, do you?” Peter asked, laughing, moving to kiss him. Johnny stopped him with a hand against his chest.

“I want to go home,” Johnny said. Peter went still as a statue underneath his touch.

“Are you so unhappy here?” he asked, voice rough.

“No!” Johnny said immediately. He reached for Peter’s hand, bringing the back of it up to his lips. He kissed his knuckles softly. “I didn’t mean permanently. But – for a few days? To see my sister?” He swallowed hard. “I want to see my sister.”

Peter was quiet.

“Am I your prisoner?” Johnny asked, frowning.

“No,” Peter said immediately. “No, never. It’s just…”

He pulled away from Johnny and climbed out of bed, abruptly. Johnny couldn’t see him, but the floor creaked as he paced.

“I’m scared you won’t want to come back,” Peter admitted after a long, tense moment.

Johnny climbed from the bed. He found Peter in the dark and pulled him in against himself, one hand in Peter’s hair as Peter put his forehead down against Johnny’s shoulder. His arms slipped around Johnny, hands locking at the small of his back. Johnny shushed him, thinking about the castle’s huge, empty halls, and May’s talk of how long it had been since she’d seen Peter’s face. The way the spider had spent so many nights lurking in the snow. The way Peter held him in the dark, like a drowning man.

Peter had been so alone for so long.

“I’ll want to come back,” Johnny told him, nuzzling at Peter’s temple.

Peter let out a ragged breath.

 

* * *

 

“I’m telling you this because Peter won’t, dear heart,” May said, helping with his jacket – a far finer thing than he’d arrived wearing. It was the first time Johnny had seen her before the evening, and she seemed somehow insubstantial, like the light that filtered in through the castle’s windows shone through her instead of onto her. “While you’re at your sister’s home, she will offer you advice. I beg you, don’t listen.”

“Why?” Johnny asked, turning to face her. “Sue would never tell me to do anything wrong, May.”

“She won’t mean it that way,” May said, taking his hands in her own. “She’ll be concerned for you. Worried. She’s going to ask you to do something.”

“What?” Johnny asked.

“She’ll give you something,” May said. “On the third day. You mustn’t take it.”

“May,” said Nathan. “The boy’s going to be late.”

“Please,” May said, squeezing Johnny’s hands.

“Alright,” Johnny said, still stunned. He couldn’t imagine why she thought Sue would do something like that. “I won’t, I promise.”

She smiled and let go.

Peter was waiting in the courtyard. It was the first time Johnny had seen his spider form in the daylight. He was intimidating for a moment, a dark shape against the snow, bristling all over with hair. There were striped bands up and down those eight long legs, scarlet and dark blue. His eight eyes were dark and fathomless, but Johnny knew he was looking at him.

But this was only Peter, with his warm hands and his quick tongue, who held Johnny at night and slept with his feet outside the covers and laughed at Johnny’s jokes. Johnny felt a surge of affection just looking at him.

“Are you frightened?” Peter asked.

“Of you?” Johnny said, reaching up to touch his face. He smiled when Peter tried to shy away, gently turning that huge head towards him. He rested his forehead against the spider. “What’s there to be scared of?”

The spider snorted, which was an odd sight.

“Up on my back,” Peter said. “We’re losing daylight.”

Anxiety crept over Johnny as they moved through the forest. He was suddenly afraid that Peter would take him back to the shack in the woods, that nothing at all had changed and Sue had been stuck there all this time, alone without him. That it had all been an elaborate ruse, and that here, in the snow, the fantasy would end and the spider would reveal himself a cruel monster after all.

“Don’t be so nervous,” Peter said.

“I’m not,” Johnny lied.

“You’re being very quiet,” Peter said. “I know you well enough by now.”

Johnny stroked the bit of Peter’s back underneath his hand and didn’t answer. He didn’t have to – when they came through the trees, Johnny’s little home was gone and instead there stood a mansion.

Sue must have seen him from the windows; she flung the door open and ran out to meet them, shouting Johnny’s name. He leapt from Peter’s back and met her halfway, embracing her so fiercely they both ended up on their knees in the snow.

“Johnny,” Sue said, gripping handfuls of his jacket. She was crying; so was Johnny. “Oh, Johnny.”

“Hi, Sue,” he said, laughing against her hair. “I told you, didn’t I? That it would all be alright?”

“Never do that again,” she said fiercely, holding him closer for a moment before getting them both to their feet. She held tightly to Johnny’s hands as she looked at Peter, an imposing figure against all the white snow. “You brought him back to me.”

“Only for a visit,” Johnny said, squeezing Sue’s hands.

“No,” Sue said, shaking her head. “You can’t take him from me again.”

“I’ll return for you in three days’ time,” Peter said, only to Johnny. Johnny wanted to go to him and say a proper goodbye, but Peter turned and lumbered off before he could. Johnny shouted his farewells at his back instead.

“Johnny,” Sue said, reaching to cradle his face. “Oh, where have you been?”

He laughed – he couldn’t help it, not when he was kneeling in the snow with his sister ruining her beautiful dress, snowflakes drifting all around them. Not when Peter had kept his promises. He dropped his forehead to Sue’s, tears in his eyes.

“I have so much to tell you,” he said.

The house Sue led him into was as beautiful inside as it was out, warm and inviting, and best of all, when Johnny stepped inside, there was Reed, waiting in the front room with that curious smile of his.

Johnny threw his arms around his neck.

“Hello again,” Reed said, hugging him back. “Susan tells me you’ve run off with a giant spider.”

“He’s only a spider half of the time,” Johnny said.

“Well,” Reed said, arching his eyebrows. “I suppose that does make a difference.”

Peter had promised Sue everything, and it had been given to her. Johnny could have laughed until he cried, he was so full of awe and so in love.

Reed’s friend Ben joined them for dinner, and to Johnny it seemed like no one stopped smiling for a moment, not after Ben said, “Wait, a _spider_?” Reed seemed very interested in the science behind Peter’s transformation – “I wonder if the arachnid form is something he molts” – while Johnny wrinkled his nose and Ben laughed at them both. Sue’s smile was only a little strained at the edges.

The conversation seemed to lull after dinner. He and Sue did the dishes together, standing side by side, in a silence that wasn’t as comfortable as it used to be. He wondered if he had done that to them, if their old closeness had been a silent part of the deal between him and Peter, or if it was simply his absence taking its toll.

“Johnny,” Sue said suddenly, reaching for his hand. She eyed Reed and Ben, in the sitting room – close enough that Johnny could hear the murmur of their voices. “Can I speak to you for a moment? Alone?”

Apprehension pricked at Johnny, but it was only his sister. He had no reason to be nervous; May’s strange warning meant nothing. She didn’t know Sue, not like he did.

“Alright,” Johnny said, following her into her bedroom.

This room, too, was richly decorated, in a manner not unlike his own room back at Peter’s castle. Johnny took a moment to look around, admiring the dark wood furniture and the shiny floors. Never had he imagined either he or Sue would live in a place like this.

“A cursed prince,” Sue said, frowning as she closed the door. “You always did love those stories…”

“And he’s good to me, Sue,” Johnny said, desperate to make her understand. “He’s kind. He makes me laugh. When we’re together, I feel – I feel different, when I’m with him. Please, be happy for me.”

“Is he handsome, then?” Sue asked, aiming for teasing and missing the mark only because he knew her so well.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He thought about lying to her – yes, he was handsome, with a strong chin and wavy hair, a storybook prince – but he’d never been good enough at it that she wouldn’t be able to tell. “Well, I assume he looks better as a man than as a spider.”

“You assume?” Sue repeated, arching her brows.

“It’s always dark, when he comes to me at night,” Johnny admitted, tearing his gaze away from his sister’s face. He didn’t want to see her expression. “The lights in the castle all go out and they don’t return until morning. He’s gone by then.”

“So you lie in bed every night with a man whose face you’ve never seen,” Sue said. Her face was troubled. Johnny took her hands in his own, desperate to reassure her.

“It’s not like that, Sue,” he said. “He’s a good person.”

“He’s a giant spider,” Sue shot back.

“He’s under a curse!” Johnny said. “He’s a regular man at night, and he cares about me. He’s good to me, Sue, I promise.”

“He won’t show you his face,” Sue said, brow creased in worry.

“He _can’t_ ,” Johnny said, throwing his hands up. “It doesn’t matter to me!”

“It should,” Sue said. “You act like you’re lovers, but he keeps secrets from you.”

“It’s only his face,” Johnny said. He tried hard to believe himself when he repeated, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

Sue just held his hands for a long moment, staring silently down at them. When she looked up, her eyes were full of determination.

“I want you to have something,” she said. She turned and went to her bedside drawer, and when she returned she was holding a candle stub and a little gilded box of matches.

Sue pressed both of them into his hand.

“I’m not saying you have to use it,” she said. “I just want you to be able to see his face, if you want to. If you want to find out what he’s keeping from you.”

“I can’t,” he said, frowning.

She curled his fingers around them and, shamefully, he didn’t let go.

That night, before he went to bed, he held the matches and the candle stub loosely in his fist, dangled out the window. The cold wind bit at his knuckles; he could just let go, let it fall down below. They would be lost in the snow. He willed them to slip from his grasp of their own accord, for the wind to carry them off so Johnny wouldn’t be betraying either his sister or Peter.

But the first touch of snow on his bare skin just made him curl his fingers tighter.

He shut the window, and he tucked the candle in with his things.

 

* * *

 

“Stay here,” Sue said on the last evening, holding onto his wrist. “Stay with me. With Reed. We’ll be a family together. You can stay, can’t you? He won’t take you back if you don’t want to go.”

There was a hulking shape at the edge of the forest, dark against the snow. Peter was waiting. Sue’s grip tightened on his arm.

“You don’t have to worry,” Johnny told her, putting his hand over hers. He smiled out into the night, even though he knew Peter couldn’t see his face from this distance. “He loves me, Sue.”

“Johnny,” she said, and he pulled her into a parting embrace.

“I love him,” he told her, brimming with warmth at the truth of it. If he hadn’t known it before, then the three days away from Peter had proven it to him.

He tried to ignore the weight of the candle nub and the matches in his pocket. They were a gift from his sister, and that was all. It was wrong, to refuse a gift.

“You came,” Peter said when Johnny found him in the forest, in the same spot where he’d made the deal, the same spot where he’d first left with Peter. Peter sounded, if anything, faintly surprised.

“Of course,” Johnny said, touching that huge face. “I missed you.”

“Looking like this?” Peter scoffed. “I’m sure.”

Johnny stretched up on his toes to kiss the side of his head, just under one gleaming eye. Peter sighed, one long, spindly leg curling protectively around Johnny.

“I missed you,” Johnny repeated firmly, stroking the spider’s face.

“Stubborn,” Peter murmured. “Get on my back and we’ll go home.”

Johnny gladly obeyed.

Just like that very first night, Peter left him at the kitchen door and disappeared into the gloom. Johnny barely bothered with dinner. It was mostly that he was anxious to be reunited with Peter – in their room, in their bed, when Peter was a man and not a spider. May’s watchful eyes, however, played a part. The little candle stub and the box of matches Sue had given him felt like they were burning him through his pocket. He tucked them into his bedside drawer as soon as he could, buried under a few other odds and ends.

After three days apart, he didn’t bother with bedclothes and instead climbed naked into bed to wait for Peter. It took longer than normal for him to appear; Johnny was nearly asleep when the fire crackled out and darkness descended. A moment later, the door cracked open.

Johnny sat up, stretching. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. I was just…”

“Peter,” Johnny said, smile widening. “Come here.”

The bed shifted; Johnny reached for Peter. He found his face in the dark, tilting his head and kissing him.

“Eager, are we?” Peter said, hands settling at Johnny’s bare thighs.

“Like I said,” Johnny murmured, twining his arms around Peter’s neck. “I missed you.”

 

* * *

 

“What did your sister have to say?” Peter asked in the dark, fingers combing through Johnny’s hair, restless, again and again. It would be a mess in the morning, but Johnny didn’t have the heart to stop him just yet.

“She wasn’t happy about me leaving again,” Johnny admitted. He reached up and wrapped his hand around Peter’s wrist, squeezing to still him. After a second, Peter obeyed, but then a moment later he started again. Johnny sighed, fond.

Peter was quiet for a long moment. “Were you unhappy? To leave?”

“I miss my sister,” Johnny admitted and Peter made a soft noise. Johnny fit a hand to his jaw and kissed him. “But I missed you, too. No, I wasn’t unhappy.”

“Oh,” Peter said, sighing. “Good. Because I want you to, you know. Be happy. With me.”

“I am,” Johnny said, smiling, pressing his mouth to Peter’s to let him feel it. “Sue will come around. She’s just old-fashioned.”

“And she has only ever seen me as a giant spider,” Peter said.

“That, too,” Johnny admitted.

“So I would understand,” Peter said, a little stilted, “if she had concerns. About me looking like a giant spider every time she’s seen me and stealing her precious brother away in the night and all. It’s not the best impression I’ve ever made.”

“She didn’t say anything,” Johnny said. The secret burned; he could almost feel Sue pressing the little candle into his palm. “You’re fine. You’re lovely, even. She didn’t say anything bad about you.”

Peter was quiet for a long moment, and then he rolled onto his side and buried his nose in Johnny’s hair. “Alright.”

Johnny closed his eyes and exhaled, curling up close next to Peter and telling himself that he didn’t need anything more than this. What Peter looked like didn’t matter to him.

He held against the temptation for almost two weeks, but the suspicion Sue had planted -- _why won’t he show you his face_ \-- grew and grew, no matter how Johnny tried to stamp it out. He found himself touching Peter’s face in the dark, wondering if it felt the same as it had the night before, or if the features were subtly different. He wondered if a spider was the only thing Peter could turn himself into.

He dreamed one night that he lit the candle and found not a man but a creature covered in sticky black slime, with big white eyes and sharp teeth and a tongue so long it hung out of its grinning mouth. He woke with a shout, covered in a cold sweat, and Peter was instantly sitting up beside him.

“What’s wrong?” Peter said, warm hands rubbing up and down Johnny’s arms. “What’s the matter?”

“Just a dream,” Johnny gasped, shaking his head.

“What about?” Peter asked. “You’re shivering.”

“Nothing,” Johnny lied. “I – I can’t remember.”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Peter said, guiding him to lie down with his head against Peter’s chest. Peter’s fingers slid through his hair. It should have been a comfort, but all Johnny could remember was that terrible face. All he could wonder was why Peter couldn’t let him see him, and if he was really cursed at all.

“I’m fine now,” he said, even as Peter fussed with the blankets and smoothed Johnny’s hair back. Peter stroked his back for a while longer before he drifted off to sleep. Johnny, though, laid awake for several more hours, until he fell into a fitful rest near dawn.

As always, he woke alone. For a long moment he just laid there, staring up at the ceiling. He wanted to go back to how it was before, when he was just happy to have Peter at all. He wished he’d never let Sue take him aside like that.

The candle was still in the little drawer on his side of the bed.

Johnny rolled over and buried his face in the pillows, hating himself for the nagging feeling in his chest.

 

* * *

 

It took him weeks before he decided to do it. A half a dozen times he had reached for the drawer before something had happened – Peter had shifted, had sighed, had broken Johnny out of what felt like a trance. He’d settled back down next to him, thrown his arm over Peter’s waist, and fallen asleep thinking of the feel of his smile.

He thought about it for a long time before he did it, leaning over Peter and staring down, down into the dark, where his face was. He toyed a little bit with his hair, almost daring him to wake up, but Peter slept on.

Johnny opened the drawer.

He fumbled as he struck the match. He’d always been fascinated by fire – when he’d been little, he’d used to fall asleep in front of the fireplace nearly every night. It had been a comfort to him when his father wouldn’t return for days on end. He liked the way the flames danced. He liked the warmth of them. When the match ignited, he felt the spark.

With shaking fingers, he lit the candle stub and held it up just high enough to cast the little light on Peter’s face.

It was his hair he noticed first, thick and unruly against the white pillowcase. Then the nose, and the brows, the long dark eyelashes against his cheeks. Those lips he’d kissed again and again, mouth a little open in sleep.

“Oh,” Johnny breathed, unable to help it.

There was the face he had touched and kissed and dreamed about. Peter’s features were peaceful, but even in sleep there was a little line between his brows. Johnny wanted to smooth it away. He was going to, as soon as he put the candle out – he’d touch that furrow on Peter’s forehead and Peter would wake, ask him what he thought he was doing, push him to the mattress when Johnny complained that he couldn’t sleep and kiss him silly and all the while Johnny would finally know his face.

He was so caught up in staring at him that he didn’t notice when three drops of wax dripped from the candle onto Peter’s chest.

Peter woke with a gasp. Johnny dropped the candle in surprise; it extinguished itself, but it didn’t matter. The room was suddenly flooded with light, and Peter was looking with him.

He hadn’t lied. His eyes were brown.

“Johnny,” Peter said, sitting up and grabbing him by the shoulders. Johnny couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. Peter let go of him, staring down at his own hands. He spread his fingers helplessly. “Johnny, what have you done?”

“I –” Johnny began, helplessly, but he couldn’t seem to get the words out. The room was so bright it almost hurt and Peter’s face was shocked and pale, all the blood drained away from it.

He was so handsome. It was a terrible thing to think, in the moment. But he was.

Johnny watched as Peter’s gaze fell first upon Johnny’s hands, then the fallen candle and the little gilded box of matches. He raised one hand to his own chest, where the wax had not yet fully dried. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but no sound came out.

“No,” he finally said. “No, please, no.”

His hand reached out – Johnny had no idea what he wanted, not until he grabbed Johnny’s hand and twisted their fingers together, raised their joined hands to his lips. It wasn’t kiss, not really, just the press of Peter’s lips. His shoulders had gone very rigid.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said, a terrible understanding dawning on him. “I’m sorry, my sister—”

“Shh,” said Peter, his eyes closed. There was a strange sort of stillness to him, except for his hands, which were shaking. “It’s alright. It’s alright. He was always going to win.”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said again, unable to say anything else. “I didn’t mean – I didn’t _know_.”

Peter squeezed his hand and then he let it drop. He climbed from the bed, his movements strange and calculated.

“I know,” he said, not looking at Johnny. “You lasted longer than I would have, if it’s any comfort.”

Then he overturned the desk. Johnny, startled, drew back.

“Goblin!” Peter shouted, fists balled up tight. He spun in a circle, eyes wild, as if he expected someone to appear, but no one did. The room was almost eerily silent. “You won, don’t you see? You won, Norman! Take me already, you miserable bastard!”

He overturned the bookshelf, shouting, and Johnny found himself on his feet, pulling him back, his hands at Peter’s shoulders, at his chest, cradling his face. Peter’s breathing was ragged, his gaze faraway, his hands still clenched into fists.

Johnny didn’t know what he expected – Peter to throw him off maybe, to condemn him. To blame him for this. And he would be right. Johnny had said a thousand times that he didn’t care about Peter’s face, that he was happy as they were.

But he’d still lit the candle.

His eyes felt too hot. His throat ached.

Then Peter’s shoulders slumped, and his hands relaxed. He turned towards Johnny, almost collapsing onto him. He fit his hands to Johnny’s hips, just holding.

“Peter?” Johnny asked and Peter laughed, bitter.

“Just,” Peter said. “Hold me. Just for a moment.”

Johnny wrapped his arms around him. Peter rested his forehead against Johnny’s, eyes shut. Several silent minutes ticked by before he pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said, voice rough as Peter turned away.

“No,” Peter said, shaking his head. “I did this. I did this to you. I did this to everyone. My aunt, Harry… My whole kingdom. I thought I was so smart and so strong. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

He shook his head again, eyes shut.

“I ruined everything,” Johnny said. “I – if I hadn’t lit the candle –"

“A year,” Peter said, standing by the fireplace. “If you’d stayed with me for just one year, of your own volition… if you loved me, for one year, without ever knowing my face, then that would have been it. I would have been free. The Goblin King would have lost.”

“A year,” Johnny repeated, numb. “That was it?”

“That was it,” Peter said, resigned. "I wanted to tell you, so many times, but I couldn't or he'd have taken me back."

A year didn’t seem very long, not when he thought about it. Not long at all – and Johnny hadn’t been able to hold out for even half of that.

“Oh,” he said, and then, to his own mortification, he started to cry. Not loudly. He didn’t sob. The tears just fell, hot and heavy, like the drops of wax that had fallen onto Peter’s shirt. He’d ruined it. He’d ruined everything.

Peter turned and saw and something in his expression broke, and that was all it took to make Johnny start to cry harder.

“Don’t,” Peter said, reeling him in against him. “Please, don’t.”

Peter held him close, Johnny’s face tucked against his neck. Johnny could smell those drops of wax, abhorrent, and cursed himself all over again. A year. He’d only had to hold out one year. What was one year without Peter’s face? Nothing, compared to the rest of his life without Peter at all.

They fell back into bed together, desperate and fumbling, hands everywhere, like it was their last chance to touch each other. It was, Johnny realized, they’re last chance to touch each other, and that made him kiss harder, cling tighter. This was going to be the last time Peter all over him, above him, the last time Peter’s hands would touch him like this, touch him at all. He couldn’t even appreciate the light of the room, in the face of all that – he couldn’t watch Peter’s face as he came, even knowing that this was his only chance, that he’d never see it again.

Afterwards, Peter held him fast, stroking his back as Johnny curled against him. His grip was too tight, he knew, but how else was he supposed to hold the man who was about to be taken from him?

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes prickling. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“So am I,” Peter said, shaking his head. There were tears in his eyes too. “Shh, don’t cry, then I’ll start. You’ll be alright. You’ll go home to your sister and you’ll be just fine.”

“My sister,” Johnny breathed out. “Did I ruin everything for her?”

“No,” Peter said, fiercely. “No, that was a gift of my own giving. The Goblin King’s curse can’t touch it.”

“What’s going to happen now?” Johnny asked.

“The Goblin King won,” Peter said. “I have to return to him.”

“Please,” Johnny said. “I want to go with you.”

“You can’t,” Peter said. His fingertips trailed across Johnny’s cheek to rest at his lips. “By dawn I’ll be east of the sun and west of the moon and you’ll never find me, not if you searched for a million years. So don’t search. Go home to your sister, Johnny. Forget about me.”

“Never,” Johnny said, kissing his fingers.

“Be happy,” Peter said. “I want you to be happy.”

Johnny opened his mouth, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t figure out how to say, _I don’t know how. You were as close as I’ve gotten._

“It’s alright,” Peter murmured, gaze locked on Johnny’s. He trailed his fingers up Johnny’s arm so softly he was barely touching him at all. “I knew it was going to end like this. It’s why I waited so long to try.” Johnny watched his swallow hard, watched the sheen of his eyes. “It’s just… I wanted this.”

“I wanted you,” Johnny said. Peter cursed, pulling Johnny in tight against him again.

“Damn you, Norman,” Peter whispered.

 

* * *

 

He woke alone, just like always, but it felt different, this time. The castle was so cold that it had sunk into Johnny’s bones.

There was an impression in the sheets where Peter had been the night before. When Johnny touched his lips, he could feel the memory of Peter’s own mouth pressed against them.

But Peter was gone, east of the sun and west of the moon, and he would not return to Johnny’s bed that night, or any other night, because of what Johnny had done. The rumpled sheets were cold. The tears that pricked at his eyes were hot.

Peter had loved him. Johnny had felt it. Worse yet, Johnny had loved him back, and still he had gone and betrayed him.

“Best thing in your whole life,” he told himself, pushing his hand up into his hair, “and this is what you do to him.”

It wasn’t fair, he wanted to say, but he had lit that candle. He had broken the rules.

He’d only wanted to see Peter’s face.

The castle began to fade around him even as he dressed, the wallpaper turning grey, the floors becoming old and brittle. Old cobwebs clung to corners that had been clean the day before. The walls all seemed like they weren’t quite there.

He found May waiting alone in the old kitchen, and immediately attempted to apologize to her.

“Listen to me,” May cut him off, taking his hands in her own. “I don’t have much time left to tell you this. I must follow where Peter’s gone, east of the sun and west of the moon. You must fix this, Johnny. You must go to the witch who lives in the woods and tell her everything. Tell her to take you as far as she can.”

“Peter said I’ll never find him,” he argued, feeling so hopeless that he matched the snow starting to drift into the room through the vanishing walls.

“What that boy doesn’t know could fill an ocean,” she said, squeezing his hands. “You have to try, Johnny. For him.”

When he blinked, May was gone, and so was the castle. Johnny was alone in the snow.

 

* * *

 

It took him nearly a day to find Sue’s home. By the time he did, he was frozen nearly through and tired down to his bones. Worst of all, he couldn’t stop the tears, even though they froze on his face.

Sue found him in the snow. The last thing he remembered before he collapsed was her calling for Reed.

He dreamed of Peter’s wry laugh, and the feel of his crooked smile, and the one time they’d danced together in the dark bedroom, Peter always somehow seeming to steer them right before they toppled over a chair or banged into the table.

It was warm in the dream, and safe. Several times he drifted awake to a dark room, but he was so tired, and it was easy to imagine Peter’s warmth behind him, the weight of his arm thrown casually across Johnny’s waist. Johnny closed his eyes again and let himself pretend.

He finally woke in an unfamiliar bed, to a familiar voice humming, and a familiar hand holding his own. Sue was seated by the bed, her own eyes closed. There was a book lying abandoned in her lap.

It shouldn’t have broken his heart to wake up in his sister’s home.

“Sue,” he croaked, throat sore.

She startled. The book slipped from her lap and clattered to the floor.

“Johnny!” she said. “You’re awake.”

She told him he’d been asleep for the better part of two days. She got him water, and settled him back against the pillows. She asked him what had happened that she’d found him collapsed, half-frozen, on her doorstep. Johnny couldn’t answer. Johnny couldn’t speak. His heart still felt frozen.

“Johnny?” Sue said, sitting at the edge of his bed. Her brow was creased with worry. “Say something, please. You’re scaring me. Did you have a fight with your cursed prince? Did he hurt you?”

Something in Johnny snapped at the idea that Peter could hurt him.

“I lit it!” he said, suddenly so incredibly, incandescently furious with her. “The candle you gave me! I broke his trust and the spell and now he’s gone!”

He tore himself away from her, his shoulders hunched, as he breathed hard and tried his best not to burst into another round of angry, heartbroken tears. He failed.

Sue had only given him that candle, those matches. She hadn’t made Johnny light it. She hadn’t made Johnny look. The tears fell hot and heavy, coursing down his cheeks.

Sue pressed her cheek to his hair and wrapped her arm around him.

“Oh, my reckless heart,” she said, pulling his head down against her shoulder. Her fingers carded through the tangles in his hair. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. When that man came around, talking about monsters, and gave me the matches, I didn't _think_.”

“No, don’t. It’s my fault,” Johnny said, screwing his eyes shut against the tears. Of course. Of course that was why May had warned him. Johnny had been set up by the Goblin King and he'd played his part perfectly. “And now because of me, who knows what’s going to happen to him? I’ve doomed him…”

“No, no,” Sue said, rubbing at his arm. “I’m so sorry, Johnny.”

“I love him,” he said, shoulders shaking helplessly. “How could I do this to him?”

He deserved this, he knew, but Peter didn’t.

The next few days he spent in bed, recovering. Sue brought him hot broth and his favorite books, and Reed and Ben sat by his bedside regaling him with stories from their wild youth, but none of it mattered. There was a void in Johnny where his heart had been. He dreamed of Peter every night, trapped at the mercies of the Goblin King.

The witch in the woods, May had said. She could lead him to Peter. It took Johnny days to remember, and days more before he was well enough to set out in search of her.

Feeling like a very different man than when he’d first slipped out in search of Peter – in search of the spider in the woods – in the middle of the night, Johnny shrugged on his coat, left his sister’s home, and walked out in the snow.

 

* * *

 

The witch lived on the other side of the woods, far past where Johnny had first seen Peter. Johnny walked all night. He felt half-frozen through by the time he reached her cabin; he was relieved to see a light on in the window. He raised his frozen fist to knock, three times.

A long moment passed, and then the door opened.

Johnny wasn’t expecting the witch to be so young. She seemed about his own age, with short black hair and a dress that looked spun from spider’s silk.

She looked nothing like Peter, but something about the way she moved reminded Johnny of the little glimpses of his silhouette he’d always gotten before the door closed, the ease with which he’d overturned the bookcase. That casual strength, the power lurking just under their skin.

He shivered.

Slowly, she opened the door.

“I heard about what happened,” she said, moving aside enough to let him enter. There was a spider dangling in the corner on a huge iridescent web. “That Peter had been sent back.”

“You know who I am?” Johnny said, nearly tripping over his own feet as he crossed the threshold.

“News travels,” she said, gesturing to the spider in the corner. The whole cabin was full of webs. Johnny pushed back the webs, but they clung stubbornly to the backs of his hands and stuck to his hair. A stubborn strand kept falling back into his eyes.

“My name’s Johnny,” he said, still trying to clear the cobwebs.

“Cindy,” she said. She wasn’t looking at him. “Why are you here?”

“Please, his aunt said – she said you could help me find him,” Johnny said, well aware of the pleading note in his voice. He would have fallen to his knees and begged, if he’d thought it would help. “He said I’d never be able to find him, but I – I ruined everything, and I need to fix it.”

“I can’t take you part of the way there,” Cindy said. “But only part.”

“Why?” Johnny asked, brow creased in confusion.

“Peter’s not the only one who’s cursed. They said I was supposed to have him, first. That I was the bride,” Cindy said, staring solemnly into the gloom. After a second, she glanced at Johnny, and whatever she saw in his expression made hers soften. “Don’t worry. I don’t want him.”

“I wish anyone said that about me,” Johnny said. “Not that I know where to go to get him back. East of the sun, and west of the moon, and I’ll never find it if I search for a million years, so he says.”

“That’s funny, you know. He always said he didn’t believe in fate,” Cindy said. “He fought against it, tooth and nail. But if it wasn’t fate that led him to you, then I don’t know what fate is. Look at you, standing here, at the edge of your world. You’ve got just enough of his magic left on you to do it, too.”

“To do what?” Johnny asked, lost.

“To go east of the sun and west of the moon,” Cindy said. “I’ll take you as far as I can.”

 

* * *

 

Cindy gave him a cot to sleep on for the night, and he dreamed of spiders in the dark, of candlelight spilling over Peter’s face. He woke to cold, grey dawn light, feeling frozen down to his bones even though the fire still smoldered.

For one moment, he’d expected to wake up in Peter’s arms, but there was only a spider, slowly making its way down the wall.

A cloak hit him in the face.

“Put that on,” Cindy said. “We’ve got a walk ahead of us.”

Cindy led to him a tavern. The sign outside read _The Black Cat Inn_. The door swung open and Johnny gasped a little at the crowd. He’d shared his bed with a man who was a giant spider during the day, it was true, but he’d never been in a place like this. Inside it was a riot of otherworldly characters; Johnny saw gossamer wings flutter, pointed ears, women with hooves, a man who looked like he was made from plants.

Cindy just pushed him forward, directing him towards the bar, where a girl with long silver hair was sitting. She was clad in black and she looked distinctly bored.

“Hello, Cindy,” she said without looking up.

“Felicia,” Cindy said, crossing her arms. “I need a favor.”

“Isn’t that just my favorite thing to hear?” Felicia said, tossing her drink back.

“This is a friend of Peter’s,” Cindy said, gesturing to Johnny. Felicia’s eyebrow quirked as, finally, she turned to look at him. Her gaze traveled his body, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

“Who _hasn’t_ been a friend of Peter’s?” she asked, smirking. Johnny had noticed how beautiful she was – he felt a hot spark of jealousy over how she would have looked with stubborn, noble Peter.

Cindy swatted her on the shoulder.

“Be nice!” she said. “He’s going very far from home, Felicia.”

“Oh, darling,” Felicia said. “Aren’t we all?”

“Felicia, be serious,” Cindy said. “I need you to take him as far as you can.”

Felicia pushed her chair back and stood. She was taller than Cindy, and there was an aura of intimidation about her, but Cindy stood her ground and glared right back. She didn’t flinch when Felicia ran one finger along Cindy’s cheek.

“For you, little spider,” she purred. “I’ll take him as far as I can.”

 

* * *

 

Felicia led him up a narrow, winding staircase. Johnny held tight to the railing – it was dark, and he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Felicia seemed to have no trouble.

“You’ll stay here tonight,” she said. “I’ll take you as far as I can in the morning.”

“Thank you,” he said.

She stopped on the landing. “I’m doing it for Cindy. And for Peter.”

The door opened and she strode through it. Her rooms were far smaller than Peter’s palace, but much more opulently decorated: the walls were hung with paintings, and jewels glittered on a low table. Felicia reclined on a velvet sofa.

“I miss him, sometimes,” she said. “Always drove me up the wall, but he was – funny. Is he still funny?”

“Yes,” Johnny said, remembering how nobody had ever made him laugh like Peter had.

“Is he still horribly annoying?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“Not to me,” Johnny said.

“Well,” said Felicia. “Give him time.”

Johnny wanted to be able to joke about that – giving Peter time. But he was so scared that this was all fruitless, and that he would never see Peter again. He sank down into a criminally soft chair and rested his forehead on his hand.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” said Felicia’s voice from behind him. He startled. She’d crept, cat-like, behind his chair without him hearing and now she was peering down at him. Her eyes glowed in the dimly lit room. She smirked. “Jumpy.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I’m not anything,” Johnny told her, unable to help the accusation creeping into his voice. He was cold, and tired, and in over his head, and half-convinced he was going to die on this mission, and then Peter would be doomed forever. “Not like you. Not like him.”

“Wrong,” said Felicia. “You’re a thief.”

“I’ve never stolen,” Johnny protested, glancing up. It was a lie, but he had been very young and very hungry and he’d only done it once because when his father had found out he’d been so furious that Johnny could still see the look on his face. A thief and a liar, that's what he was, and now a pretender, thinking he could find Peter.

Still, he spread his empty hands out before him, as if to demonstrate how little he had.

“You stole your prince, didn’t you?” she said, staring at him with her piercing cat eyes. “You know you were never supposed to have him. You can feel it. He’s not from your world. But at night, he was yours.”

Johnny shrugged, bitter here at the ends of the earth, and most importantly alone. “They took him away from me.”

Felicia sighed heavily. She rose and inspected a row of bottles for a moment, before selecting one and sloshing a generous amount of liquor into two crystal glasses. She turned back towards him, leaving the glasses on the table.

“What are you doing here, then?” she asked, moving to straddle him. Johnny couldn’t answer her, because he didn’t know. Peter had told him. He’d told him he’d never find him, not if he looked for a million years. And here was Johnny, too stupid to listen as usual.

Felicia shoved him until he was lying flat on his back and she was leaning over him. Her hair fell like a curtain around them.

“What,” she said, hand heavy on his chest, “are you here for?”

“I want him back,” Johnny admitted, staring back up at her.

Her fingernails dug into his chest, sharp as claws, for one second before she sat up and brushed her hair back with a sigh. She retrieved the glasses and passed him one.

Johnny remembered being very small and his father very sternly telling him not to take food or drink from creatures like Felicia. But he’d already broken that rule a hundredfold in Peter’s strange castle, so what was once more? Johnny had never been good for anything but disobeying his father’s rules.

Felicia held her glass out to him. He mirrored the action, and then threw it back. The liquor burned on its way down, lighting him up from the inside out. For a second, he felt like he was on fire.

“Then go take him back,” Felicia said.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Felicia saddled a black horse and Johnny held onto her waist as they rode.

“I’ll take you to the sunlight,” she said. “She’ll know where you should go after that.”

They rode for a very long time, past places Johnny could barely believe – long, green fields and dark forests filled with things with glowing eyes that Felicia told him not to look at. Johnny held onto her a little tighter, thinking that now he had to find Peter – if he didn’t, there was no way he’d be able to find his own way home.

Finally, in front of a little cottage by a sparkling sea, Felicia reined in her horse.

There was a girl sitting in a garden, surrounded by flowers. Her hair glowed like the sun.

“Brought me another stray, have you? I keep telling you, if you can’t care for them on your own, don’t come running to me,” she called over her shoulder as Felicia dismounted.

“This one’s a friend of a friend, Red,” said Felicia. “I think you’ll like him. _Peter_ certainly did.”

The woman turned, and Johnny was shocked by her beauty, her kind eyes and her long red hair.

“Oh,” said the redheaded woman, sounding shocked. “Of course. I’d heard about poor Peter. What’s he doing here, then?”

“I’m trying to fix it,” Johnny said. “Please. Can you take me to him?”

The redheaded woman looked down at her own lap. “The Goblin King cursed us all, in our own ways. But I can take you to someone who can.”

Johnny thought he might laugh or cry or both, he was so relieved. Instead he turned and threw his arms around Felicia’s neck. She bristled for the first second, then patted him on the back, her sharp nails prickling.

“Thank you,” he said, first to her, and then the redheaded woman. “Thank you.”

“When you see Peter, you tell him he owes me a favor,” Felicia said, pulling back. The redheaded woman sighed.

“Felicia,” she said, a warning tone.

“ _Mary Jane_ ,” Felicia replied, voice mocking.

Mary Jane stood, brushing the dirt from her skirts. All the flowers leaned towards her when she held out her hand for Johnny to take.

“Wait,” Felicia called out, digging around in her bag. She tossed something to him and he caught it on instinct. It was a golden apple, gleaming in the light.

“What’s this for?” he asked, turning it this way and that. “A souvenir?”

“You didn’t exactly leave home with a full purse,” she said. “You never know when a little bribery will get you where you need to go. I’d wish you luck, but –”

“You’d jinx him right back to where he started,” Mary Jane cut in.

Felicia laughed, saddled her horse, and was off again.

“Just like a cat,” Mary Jane said. “She drops a wild thing at my door and takes off again without so much as a by-your-leave.”

“I’m not wild,” Johnny said, self-consciously running a hand through his hair.

“You might want to look in the mirror,” Mary Jane said, leading him inside. Her home was warm and airy and somehow very lonely.

For a second, he didn’t recognize himself in the mirror. There was blond stubble at his jaw and shadows underneath his eyes. His hair was a disaster. More than disheveled, he looked tired and sad. Tired and sad was never how he’d pictured the hero in a storybook, on his way to save his lost love. But then Johnny had condemned his love, so he didn’t feel like much of a hero.

Splashing water on his face helped a little. The clothes Mary Jane presented him with helped more, fresh and clean, with thread that seemed to glow.

“He told you not to go after him, didn’t he?” she said when Johnny was dressed. “Stubborn.”

“I have to make it right,” Johnny said. He found himself telling her the whole thing, starting at the beginning, the first time he’d glimpsed Peter in the snow, and ending that awful night, when Johnny had been too weak to resist temptation, when he’d struck the match. “It’s my fault this happened.”

He was surprised by the touch of Mary Jane’s warm hand against his cheek. Her eyes burned like embers. “That’s not true. You may have been the last nail in his coffin, but Peter started this a very long time ago. He gambled, and he lost, because he thought nobody could be smarter or stronger than him.”

Johnny felt like his throat might close up. He didn’t know what he was thinking, trying to beat a game where he understood none of the rules, one where clever, strong, _otherworldly_ Peter had fallen from grace.

“Are you saying it’s pointless?” Johnny said. He wished he knew how to make these people, who were so much more than human, understand. He wasn’t like them. He didn’t know how this world worked. Peter had found him, and shown him a sliver of it, and now Johnny was lost and floundering without him. “I’m not like him. I’m not anything.”

He missed Peter so much. He didn’t want to be on his own like this.

But Peter had seemed afraid that night, underneath the rage. Johnny couldn’t abandon him, no matter how lost he felt.

Mary Jane clucked her tongue and flicked him one the forehead. He yelped.

“That may have been true, once upon a time,” she told him. “But if it was still true, you wouldn’t be here now.”

“What do I do?” he asked.

She reached out and tapped him square in the center of his chest. Sparks and sizzling embers flew, but her touch didn’t burn.

“Well, it seems to me that fire started the problem, so it’s only right that fire should solve it,” said Mary Jane, canting her head to the side. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder, a lava flow. Her smile was warm. “You’ll know what to do when the moment comes.”

He snorted. “I’m afraid you don’t know me very well, if you think that.”

Mary Jane tapped his chest again. More sparks flew.

“I think I know you better than you think,” she said.

 

* * *

 

Mary Jane said they had to wait until dusk before they set out on the last leg of his journey, that the girl who could take him to Peter couldn’t be found until then. That it was a sad story, she said.

As the evening fell she led him down past her house to the edge of the sea, where a little boat waited. They climbed in and on its own accord it started to move, carrying them across the surface of the water.

“Gwen was the best of us, back in the old days, when we were still all together. Our merry band,” Mary Jane said, leaning out over the side of the boat to skim her fingers over the waves. “She was so beautiful – I still remember exactly how she used to dance. But then the Goblin King came.”

“But she’s alright, isn’t she?” Johnny said. “I mean, we’re going to meet her, aren’t we?”

“In a sense. She fell and all of us fell with her, in our own ways,” Mary Jane said. “Peter tried to catch her, but he couldn’t. She’s not really here – she’s more a memory. She can – you have to be careful, what you say to her. If you step wrong, you could end up somewhere you don’t want to be. But she’ll take you where you need to go, if I ask her.”

They were nearing the shore now, and there was a figure waiting for them on the high cliffs above, slim and insubstantial. The boat had stopped before Johnny realized it was a girl, standing with her hands clasped before her.

The girl glowed like the moonlight.

“Gwen,” Mary Jane called. The girl didn’t seem to hear her, so Mary Jane called louder.

She turned, as if startled, and then she smiled. She held out both her hands invitingly.

“Mary Jane,” she said in a voice like windchimes.

Mary Jane raced up the beach and through the brush to take Gwen’s hands in her own. Though it seemed like a struggle, she managed to lead Gwen from the cliffs, back to Johnny. They were speaking amongst themselves, heads canted together – Mary Jane’s hair scarlet against the silvery blonde of Gwen’s.

“You’ll do it for me, won’t you, Gwen?” Johnny heard Mary Jane say. Gwen raised her head and looked at Johnny with pale eyes. Her expression didn’t change, her gaze dreamy and faraway. It was almost as if she didn’t really see him.

Still, she said, “Of course I will.”

Mary Jane smiled and kissed her quickly on the lips. When Gwen didn’t react, Mary Jane sighed, and turned away from her, walking back to Johnny.

“It’s easy,” Mary Jane said, kissing him on the cheek, “to let him slip through your fingers. He’s a spider; it’s his nature. You have to hold onto him tight, when you find him again.”

“I will,” Johnny said, meaning it with every fiber of his being. If he got another chance to be with Peter, he would grab on with both hands and never let go. No more fears, no more secrets. No more hiding in the dark, for either of them.

Mary Jane whispered _good luck_ in his ear and then she turned and got back into her boat, which would carry her back into the sunlight where she belonged. Johnny was left alone with quiet moonbeam Gwen.

She held out a hand, not for him to take, just to gesture, and said, “It’s a long walk’s this way.”

Gwen started to walk, and Johnny followed.

She didn’t speak for the first few hours. Johnny made a few attempts to talk to her, but it was like they went unheard. Sometimes, for a second or two, he lost sight of her altogether, only for her reappear as if she’d been there all along. Sometimes he couldn’t distinguish her from the night sky at all.

Then, all of a sudden, she looked back at him and it was like she saw him for the first time.

“Oh,” she said. “You burn for him.”

Johnny had no idea what to say to that. It was true, of course, but the way she said it, the intensity – it rendered him speechless. The look on her face didn’t help; it was a sadness he’d never seen before, only felt.

“I used to, too,” she said. She looked away from him again, but there was something realer about her after that. She was less of a shadow all of a sudden, no longer so transparent against the dark sky.

 _She’s not really here,_ Mary Jane had said. _She fell._

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said. He didn’t know what else to say.

“Promise me something?” Gwen said. The moonlight was almost blinding on her face. She’d slowed down enough to allow Johnny to fall into step with her, instead of merely following behind.

“What is it?” Johnny asked, remembering Mary Jane’s warnings.

Gwen closed her eyes.

“Make him happy,” she said. “He makes himself so unhappy. He needs someone to remind him there’s good out there, too.”

It was a simple request, but the enormity of it left him stunned. He remembered touching the furrow between Peter’s brows, tracing his lips – Peter smiled easily, but there was always something a little crooked about it. His occasional silences, heavy as a mountain. How the funniest person Johnny had ever met could also be the most serious.

Johnny wanted to make him happy. Wanted to make him laugh. Wanted to look up sometimes and find Peter smiling, just at him.

“I’ll try,” he said, and he meant it more than he’d ever meant anything before.

Gwen kept walking.

 

* * *

 

Gwen guided him through the rest of the night, until suddenly dawn was breaking, and Johnny could see, in the distance, the spiraling towers of a castle.

In the morning light, Gwen looked more insubstantial than ever. He’d watched her fade as midnight passed and every hour had taken something from her. He was almost surprised when she spoke again. She’d been silent for hours.

“I can’t take you any farther,” she said. She raised one hand and pointed at the castle. “You’ll have to travel the rest of the road on your own.”

“That’s where he is?” Johnny said, taking a step forward. When he looked back, he saw that Gwen hadn’t followed. He could just barely make out the shape of her, standing on the threshold of day and night.

A hand brushed his, light as air, as a voice whispered _save him_ in his ear. Then she was gone, and Johnny was alone again. He tried not to let it bother him, that he’d rather a ghost than silence.

The cliffs were steep, and it took him a few hours before he reached the castle proper. It was a warm day, bright and sunny, the kind of day Johnny had always treasured as a child, but rarely gotten. He pulled out the golden apple as he walked, idly tossing it from hand to hand.

There was a woman just outside the castle walls, and she was crying.

“Hello?” Johnny called to her. She startled, her hands flying from her face. He held up a hand, hoping he looked friendly, but after days on the road he doubted it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s fine,” she said, swiping at her eyes and jostling her spectacles. She sniffed. “What do you want?”

“I’ve come from very far away. I’m looking for the prince,” Johnny said.

“Ah,” the woman said, scrubbing at her face. “You were the one who was to have him. I heard him speaking about you when he returned…”

“Yes,” Johnny said, heart in his throat. _The one who was to have him_. He remembered Cindy saying that she was the one who was to have him, initially. Was that what Peter had told them when he returned?

She nodded miserably. “My name is Carlie.”

“I’m Johnny,” he said.

“I know,” Lily said. “Prince Peter – he was shouting at King Norman.”

“You can help me,” Johnny said. “I just need to get inside. I need to see Peter.”

“You don’t understand,” Carlie said, shaking her head. “Princess Lily is my sister. She and King Norman would never allow it.”

Her gaze, however, had fallen to the golden apple. Johnny remembered Felicia’s words.

“If you take me to whoever owns this castle, I’ll give you this,” he said, holding the apple up.

“I can’t,” she said. Then, “Except, I don’t have a gift for my sister for her wedding.”

Johnny tossed her the apple.

“Just let me talk to him,” he said. "That's all I ask."

 

* * *

 

There was a man on the throne, and he wasn’t Peter. He was older, with a severe expression, and his eyes were the coldest that Johnny had ever seen. He knew, instantly, that this was the man Peter had spoken of, the one who had tricked him and cursed him and cast him out.

The Goblin King sat upon his stolen throne, one hand propped up on his chin.

“Well now,” he said, smirking down at Johnny. “A visitor, after all these years. Isn’t this interesting, my dear?”

“Yes,” said the Goblin Princess, standing motionless behind him. She wasn’t looking at him, or Johnny, or anything at all. Her gaze was fixed upon nothing, her hands clasped in front of her. She looked like a statue instead of a person.

“How fortuitous that you’ve arrived today. We’re planning a feast,” the Goblin King said, smiling with many teeth. “To celebrate our dear Spider Prince’s return, aren’t we, darling Lily?”

“A joyous occasion,” the princess said, though her face remained cold as marble.

“That’s right,” said the Goblin King. “Our recently returned prince is to wed.”

Johnny curled his hands into fists to keep himself from speaking. The Goblin King didn’t miss the motion; the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

He extended a hand towards Lily without so much as glancing at her. Stiffly, she placed her own in his.

“And who, my dear, is our beloved prince to wed?”

Lily glanced down at Johnny with her cold eyes. “Me.”

 

* * *

 

Servants prepared Johnny for the feast. They washed his body and his hair, wiping away the dust of his travels, and dressed him in clothes fit for a prince. Their touch made his skin crawl.

“Such golden hair!” one of them cooed in a high, mocking voice.

“Such smooth skin,” said another, leering at him with eyes that were too green.

Johnny sent them away as soon as he was able, and then he sat down on the bed, and tried to think about what he should do next. Part of him had never believed he’d find this castle, east of the sun and west of the moon, and so he’d never really planned beyond that.

Part of him had thought, he supposed, that if he managed to make it here, that Peter would be right there and that it would all be alright. That Peter would make it alright.

But Johnny hadn’t seen Peter yet, and instead on the throne sat the Goblin King.

He rose and left the room.

As he wandered the halls, Johnny realized why the castle was so familiar. The one he had lived in with Peter had looked like a copy of this – but while Peter’s castle had been empty, it was also clean and bright with sunlight always streaming through its big windows during the day. There had always been something a little hollow about Peter’s castle, something that felt like it might slip through his fingers. And it had, at the end. Johnny had watched it start to disappear, untethered from its anchor. This, then, was what it had been based off – a copy of this place.

This castle really must have been beautiful, once. The bones of it still were. But the halls were filled with dust and grey, empty cobwebs hung in tatters from the ceiling. Shadows lurked in the corners. All of the candles in the dining hall still couldn’t make it seem light. Eyes peered at Johnny from the shadows. He saw May and Nathan sitting at a far table, but try as he might he couldn’t catch their attention. They both looked terribly sad.

Norman sat at a dais with Lily by his side. She looked as bored as she had that afternoon, absently tilting her wine glass from side to side. Her sister was nowhere to be found.

Carlie wasn’t the only person missing. Try as he might, Johnny couldn’t find Peter in the crowd.

Across the table there was a young man who looked like the Goblin King’s pale, thin double. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes downcast. Johnny remembered lying in the dark with Peter and listening to him talk about his best friend, his brother – the Goblin King’s son.

“Harry?” Johnny asked softly.

Harry looked up but it was like there was nothing behind his eyes. Johnny bit back on a shiver.

“Do I know you?” he asked, sounding as bored as Lily looked. His gaze dropped once again to the table.

“I know Peter,” Johnny said.

Harry glanced back up, eyes wide.

“Don’t,” he hissed, baring his teeth, suddenly wild. He glanced up at the throne, where Norman sat, and then back at Johnny. He was so pale he was practically green. “Don’t say his name.”

“Why?” Johnny asked. “He said you were his friend. I’m trying to save him.”

“You can’t,” Harry said in a whisper, voice sharp as a knife. He refused to speak to Johnny for the rest of the night. The dinner passed without much incident -- the food came, and Johnny ate, but he couldn’t figure out if it all tasted like ashes in his mouth because of his mood or because of the meal. He found himself looking up every time someone shifted or coughed, hyperaware, always sure that this was the moment when Peter would enter the room.

And then Johnny would – what?

He didn’t have to figure it out, because Peter was still missing by the end of the meal. Johnny’s heart sank when he saw that May and Nathan had already left the hall.

The halls were almost eerily quiet as Johnny made his way back to his room. It was unlocked for him, and he was ushered in, and then the heavy door closed behind him. He felt like he’d been thrown into a cell -- until he heard someone clear their throat.

Carlie was lurking in the shadows, just behind his door. She held the golden apple he’d given her.

“Do you want to see the prince?” she asked.

Heart in his throat, Johnny answered, “More than anything.”

“Then be quiet and follow me,” Carlie said, slipping through the shadows. She moved quiet as a mouse, leading him through twisting corridors. She shushed him when he asked where they going, until, finally, he stopped asking. He felt like they were very deep in the castle by the time she stopped in front of a door. She took a key from her apron.

“I stole it from my sister,” she said. “She won’t notice. She doesn’t care about him, not really.”

She put the key in Johnny’s hand. He undid the lock.

Inside the room was Peter.

He was lying on a four-poster bed, eyes closed, hands resting on his own chest. He was so pale and still that for a moment Johnny felt like he couldn’t breathe. But then he saw it, the gentle rise and fall of Peter’s chest, so slight that for a second he thought he’d imagined it.

Johnny fell to his knees in front of the bed, scrambling to hold Peter’s hand in his own. His skin was cool to the touch; he didn’t so much as stir.

“He won’t wake up,” Carlie said. “They give him a sleeping potion. So he won’t escape, I think. He didn’t come back to us very quietly. But it’s too late for him to win.”

“No,” Johnny said, shaking his head. He moved to touch Peter’s face, stroking his knuckles against his cheek. “That’s not true.”

Carlie was quiet for a long moment. Johnny had almost forgotten she was there, too caught up in being reunited with Peter, when she spoke again. “I’ll leave you alone with him tonight. I thought – I thought you deserved that much.”

Johnny glanced up just in time to see her leave, then looked back down at Peter. No amount of touching his hand or stroking his face woke him – not even the light press of Johnny’s lips against his had any effect, not that he’d thought it would. The silly part of him that had always loved fairy princesses and dashing knights had hoped, though.

The room was so silent, and the floor was beginning to hurt Johnny’s knees. He climbed onto the bed and settled on his side, facing Peter.

“You have a good face,” Johnny said, palming his cheek. Peter looked so young in his sleep. “Your aunt was right; I do think you’re handsome. I don’t know why you thought I wouldn’t.”

Peter didn’t answer, of course.

“I came for you,” Johnny said, shifting closer. He was so tired he ached with it. “I know you thought I couldn’t. Or maybe that I wouldn’t. But I did. I came for you, and I’m not leaving without you.”

He put his head down on Peter’s chest and, for the first time since he’d spilled the wax, slipped into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke up he was in his own little room again, alone. He pulled his knees up to his chest and put his forehead down against them.

 

* * *

 

The next night he went to Peter’s room, the same as before. Again, he found Peter sleeping.

He talked to him for a while. It wasn’t that he thought Peter could hear him, it was just that he had missed him, and missed lying in bed with him, and missed talking to him. He talked about going back home, about his journey here, about the night before. He talked about how much he’d missed Peter. How much he loved him and longed for the sound of his voice.

After a while, he talked about the nights leading up to when he’d lit the candle. The terrible moment he’d decided to do it. The brief moment of joy he’d felt, seeing Peter’s face, before those drops of wax had fallen.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted. “I came all this way and now I don’t know what to do.”

He wished he was smart like Reed. He wished he had a solution. He had no idea how to be so close to Peter again when he had no idea how to keep him.

He touched the place where Peter’s brow remained furrowed even in sleep, stroking across his brow in a fruitless attempt to sooth him. It felt strange to see his hand against Peter’s face, to be able to watch as he traced over one eyebrow.

For one moment, he imagined it: Peter opening his eyes and reaching up to take Johnny’s hand, pressing his palm against his cheek. Peter leaning forward to kiss him, exhaling a soft _good morning_ , or asking what Johnny was thinking, or simply pulling him in for an embrace, Peter’s arms locked tight around him. What they could have had, if Johnny had never lit that candle.

There was a fire burning in the fireplace. Johnny kissed the top of Peter’s head and slipped from the bed, settling in front of it. He spent a very long night staring into the flames until, sometime before dawn, he fell asleep.

The same as before, he woke alone in his own room.

 

* * *

 

The preparations for the wedding were in full swing. Johnny gave credit where it was due: the staff had made Peter’s ruined castle as bright and celebratory as possible, hanging bright new curtains and scattering flowers that began to wilt as soon as they were unattended.

Johnny couldn’t stand to see it. He needed to get some air. He needed to get up high, where he could breathe freely.

He ended up on the castle rooftop, taking huge gulps of air. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing two things: Peter’s sleeping face and Norman’s cold eyes.

He didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know how to save Peter from someone like that.

Johnny looked down and saw Peter, strolling with Harry Osborn. Johnny leaned out over the parapet and opened his mouth to call out to him. He caught himself at the last second. What would he say, if he called out? Would Peter even hear? What would be done to Johnny – to _Peter_ \-- if Peter knew he was here?

Peter was too far away for Johnny to study his face, but that was fine – he’d done that for two nights already, admiring the slightly crooked nose and the line between his brows, the fullness of his lips, parted in sleep. Instead he watched him move, his posture tall and a little defiant, especially compared to Harry’s hunched shoulders. They looked like polar opposites from this far away – Peter, like he was carved from stone, unmovable, and Harry, like the slightest breeze might carry him away.

Peter was speaking. Harry was not.

Johnny had only just convinced himself to call out when the Goblin King swept across the courtyard towards Peter and Harry. Fury radiated off of every inch of him. For a second, Johnny was afraid that he would strike Peter. He certainly looked like he was about to, and then Harry got himself between them. Johnny couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he knew desperate pleading when he saw it.

Norman struck him instead. He grabbed Harry before he fell, holding him tightly by the wrist.

Peter looked like he might lunge at Norman – but Harry was between them, and Harry was touching Peter’s shoulder, and Harry was speaking to him. All the while, Peter was staring at Norman. After a moment he straightened up, his hands balled at his sides.

Johnny watched, leaning so far off the parapet that he was almost dizzy with it, as Peter said something to Harry, turned on his heel, and left.

The Goblin King, his hand still clutching his son tight, watched him go.

 

* * *

 

On that night, he went to Peter’s room for the third time – but Peter was not alone.

The Goblin King sat in a high-backed chair by Peter’s bedside. His posture was stiff and regal and his gaze cast down at Peter’s face. He was so still that for a second Johnny didn’t think the Goblin King could see him – that he was enchanted, just like Peter was, frozen in the moment.

Then Norman spoke. “Do you think I don’t know what goes on in my castle?”

Johnny froze when Norman looked up. His eyes glinted in the gloom, supernaturally green.

“Tell me,” Norman said. “What do you do, when you lay beside him like this? When he won’t awaken? Do you touch yourself? Touch him?” His smile widened. “Or do you just stare at his face and _pine_ , poor thing?”

He rose from the chair. It was hard not to shrink back from him – he was tall and looming, and there was something in his eyes that was frightening. But Peter was behind him, asleep and unaware and defenseless, and Johnny wouldn’t take a step back when Peter was before him. The Goblin King looked down at him again.

“You must know that he’s like a son to me,” he said, touching the tips of his fingers – no more, no less – to the crown of Peter’s head. “My own boy, Harry – he doesn’t have Peter’s fire. His spine. There’s nothing more I want than to mold him in my own image.”

“He hates you,” Johnny said. “He thinks you’re a monster.”

“He’s willful,” Norman said. He looked up at Johnny. “But then, he’s young. And we have all the time in the world to make him into something suitable.”

His fingers trailed down Peter’s cheek. Peter slept on, unaware.

Johnny didn’t realize he had moved until he was between them, his own hand wrapped around Norman’s wrist.

“Don’t touch him,” he said.

For one second, Norman just glanced at Johnny’s hand around his wrist like a curiosity. Then he threw him off, sending him sprawling to the floor, as easy as tossing a ragdoll. Johnny was too stunned to fight back when he was dragged back to his feet and slammed against the wall. Norman held him there with one cruel hand against his throat.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice a hiss, “tell me what to do. You wouldn’t want your prince to suffer for it.”

Johnny’s vision swam but he could see, beyond Norman’s shoulder, Peter, lying still on the bed.

Norman let go of his throat.

“There now, poor thing,” he said. “Don’t think me so unsympathetic. You may have forfeited your right to him, but you still came all this way. I’ve let you have your last night with last night with him.”

That hand came up to caress his cheek, before tightening, holding Johnny’s face tilted up towards his own. The Goblin King’s gaze bore into his own, holding Johnny almost frozen in his spell. For the first time since he’d set out after Peter, he truly felt afraid.

“I can see why he picked you,” said the Goblin King, appreciation dripping from his voice.

Revulsion swept through Johnny as the Goblin King dipped his own head and pressed his lips to Johnny’s. His lips felt cold and dry, like kissing a statue, and those cruel fingers pried Johnny’s jaw open.

“The one who was to have him, hm?” he murmured, laughing before he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into Johnny’s mouth.

The spell broke; Johnny’s teeth snapped shut around Norman’s tongue. Blood flooded his mouth and it made him want to choke.

Norman let go with a wild yell that quickly turned into something else – dazed, it took Johnny a moment to realize that it was laughter. The backhand strike was not worse than the kiss; Johnny almost welcomed the cold floor after Norman’s colder lips. He didn’t want to look up at him again, but he made himself. Peter, sleeping defenseless and unaware on the bed, needed Johnny to look up. He spat out a mouthful of blood.

“I won’t leave him with you,” he said.

“Oh,” Norman said, wiping at his chin. “Now I _really_ see why he picked you. One more night, you sad little thing. Pine for your prince for one more night.”

Johnny spat on the floor as Norman left the room. The door slammed closed. Try as he might, Johnny could not get it back open. His eyes felt hot; the taste of Norman’s blood was still in his mouth. For a moment he imagined Peter, standing behind him. Peter’s hands on his shoulders. Peter turning him around and chasing Norman’s phantom touch away with his own warm hands and mouth.

He could almost hear Peter’s voice in his ear.

But when he turned, he found Peter, still in his enchanted sleep.

Johnny dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, trying to rid himself of the taste, and went to sit by Peter on the bed. He palmed Peter’s cheek and then his forehead, sliding his fingers through Peter’s thick dark hair. He shivered, thinking of the hiss of Norman’s voice, the way he’d touched Peter like he owned him.

He breathed in sharply, and dropped his forehead down against Peter’s.

“I won’t leave you with him,” he told him, closing his eyes. “That’s my promise.”

 

* * *

 

There was no soft bed underneath him when he woke, only hard stone. It took Johnny a moment, sitting up and squinting into the gloom, to figure out where he was. It was a small, dark cell, and he wasn’t alone in it.

The Goblin King’s son sat huddled across the room. Gingerly, Johnny approached him.

“Harry…?” he said softly. “Do you remember me?”

Harry looked up. It took him a moment to recall; Johnny had to watch him think about it. “You were at the feast. You know Peter.”

“What are you doing here?” Johnny asked.

“My father caught Peter speaking with me. I was supposed to stay away,” Harry mumbled, his hand over his eyes. There was a ring of bruises around his wrist, the shape of a man’s fingers. Johnny remembered the cruel way Norman had ripped Harry away from Peter the day before. “Peter told me everything’s going to be alright, but I don’t see how that can be true.”

“You believe Peter, right?” Johnny said.

Harry shrugged one shoulder. “I want to. But my father’s so strong…”

“Peter’s stronger,” Johnny said with conviction. He knew it in his heart. “You have to believe in him.”

“Oh,” said Harry, clear-eyed for a moment. “You were the one who was to have him.”

“Yes,” said Johnny, desperately. “Yes, it was supposed to be me. Please, you have to help me.”

“I can’t,” Harry said, shaking his head. “The game’s already won. Peter will marry Lily, and then my father will have them both.”

Johnny swallowed hard, curling his hands into fists. He wanted to shake Harry, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“Peter said you were his best friend,” he said, instead. “That he loved you like a brother. I need you to help him. He needs you to help him.”

Harry stared up at him, mouth hanging a little open, like he couldn’t decide what to say. Then he looked away, closing his eyes. Johnny cursed and kicked the wall, hands curled into fists so he didn’t strike Harry instead.

“He can’t help you anymore,” a new voice said, accompanied by the creak of the cell door. “But I can.”

Johnny turned around and found himself face-to-face with the Goblin Princess.

She was as beautiful and as cold as the first time he’d seen her, but looking into her eyes, Johnny saw something almost sad. She was holding the golden apple he’d given to Carlie that first day.

“You want my prince,” she said.

“He was my prince first,” Johnny replied.

“Be that as it may,” Princess Lily said, beginning to circle Johnny. “My king has seen fit to give him to me. Therein lies our problem.”

“You don’t want him,” Johnny realized. Lily didn’t answer with words, but she tilted her head to the side, her gaze lingering on Harry. Johnny was too stunned to say anything else; Carlie had said her sister didn’t care, but Johnny couldn’t imagine anyone _not_ wanting Peter.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This isn’t how I planned it,” she said after a long moment. She held the golden apple close to her chest. “This wasn’t what I wanted. I don’t want to play this game anymore.”

“I want him,” Johnny said. He plucked the apple from her grip, holding it up to the light. “I want him more than anything.”

Lily nodded. She looked up.

“Promise to free me,” she said, “and my sister. And I’ll do what I can.”

For the first time in days, Johnny smiled.

“Well now,” he said, tossing the apple back at her. “That’s a familiar bargain.”

She left shortly after that, leaving Johnny alone with only Harry for company. He tried to talk to Harry at first, but it proved impossible, so for hours he just paced the length of his cell, worrying – what if Lily reneged on their deal? What if Norman found out she’d made it behind his back? What if, what if, what if. Sue would laugh, to see him worrying so. It wasn’t like him.

Then there came the unmistakable sound of a key in the lock.

It was Carlie, not Lily, who was on the other side of the door. She seemed just as surprised as Johnny.

“I’m to bring you to the hall,” she said, looking around as if there was some sort of trap she could spot. “Princess Lily’s orders.”

Johnny nodded, wordless. It almost felt like if he spoke, he would break the spell, this sequence of events that was leading him straight to Peter.

Carlie moved to shut the door behind him, but Johnny stopped her. Peter had fallen from grace for Harry; it wouldn’t be right, for Johnny to leave him.

 

* * *

 

Seeing Peter up on the dais took Johnny’s breath away. He was dressed like a prince, with his thick brown hair tamed and slicked back from his face. His back was ramrod straight. The light from the stained glass windows fell across him, casting him in so many colors.

He looked like a man waiting for the guillotine.

Princess Lily, with her shining curls and beautiful dress, mostly looked bored. Norman sat behind them both, reclining on his throne with a smirk.

None of them seemed to see Carlie slip in with Johnny and Harry, not even when Harry gasped. He covered his own mouth, but no one turned around.

Carlie glanced, questioningly, at Johnny.

“Don’t worry,” Johnny told her. He felt strangely calm now, seated in the hall.

It was slow torture, to watch the wedding begin. Peter’s expression was thunderous; Lily’s face was a blank slate. Norman’s smirk grew louder with every word from the officiant, a hunched little old man. When Johnny glanced down, Harry’s hands were white knuckle gripping his knees.

“If anyone is to oppose this union,” said the little man, his eyes downcast, clearly not expecting anyone to speak out.

Johnny stood.

“I do,” he said, voice ringing loud and clear through the hall.

The same kind of silence that had fallen over their room when the wax had fallen on Peter now fell over the entire room, a hush like a blanket of snow. It was Peter who looked up first, and his jaw dropped open when he saw Johnny.

“No,” he said, voice hoarse. He whirled on Norman. “No! This was not the deal!”

“No,” the Goblin King agreed, his voice deathly even. “It was not.”

Johnny took a step forward, and the crowd parted like the sea. Peter gaped at him, eyes wide.

“You can’t be here,” he said. “It’s a trick.”

Johnny smiled at him, overwhelmed at hearing Peter’s voice again. Peter looked like he might cry.

“How?” Peter asked. He looked from Johnny to Norman and back again, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You said you chose me because I didn’t want anything for myself,” Johnny said. “But that’s not true anymore. I want you. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. That why I’m choosing you. I came for _you_.”

He hoped it would be enough – one single truth, here in the Goblin King’s palace of lies.

Peter took a single step towards him, and whatever fragile control Norman had snapped. He lashed out with a roar, leaping from the throne and onto Peter. Peter, caught by surprise, flailed backwards, trying to strike back – but Norman, in his fury, had the upper hand. They crashed to the floor together.

“Your chosen one’s pretty words have no power here,” Norman snarled at Peter, his hand wrapped around Peter throat. Peter’s expression was furious, lips pulled back in a snarl, not one hint of fear in his eyes even as Norman tightened his fingers. “You bargained and you lost. The deal is done.”

“His deal is,” Johnny said, holding himself painfully still. All he wanted to do was rip Norman from Peter, but if he did that, they would both lose. “But I’m not asking you to bargain with him.”

Both Norman and Peter froze. Slowly, Norman’s fingers uncurled from Peter’s throat. Peter twisted, coughing.

“Don’t,” Peter rasped. “Johnny, _don’t_ \--”

“Now, now,” Norman chided. “Let our guest speak. What is it you think you can offer me? You have nothing.”

“Johnny, don’t do this,” Peter said, desperately speaking over Norman. “Johnny, _please_.”

He was unaccustomed to begging; Johnny could hear in his voice that it was foreign for him. It made him smile – his proud prince – and he had to fight not to let that show. It helped that Peter’s voice seemed very distant and muted, was like Johnny was underwater, or far away. All of a sudden, Johnny knew what he had to say and he knew what he had to do. He felt the spark of it within him.

Johnny didn’t have nothing; he had Peter.

“I’d walk through fire for him,” Johnny said. Peter looked at him, pale with shock, those brown eyes wide. “If you’ll give me the chance, I’ll prove it.”

“Johnny,” he said, shaking his head.

“Is this the lover’s last cry?” Norman asked, circling Johnny like a vulture. “If you can’t have him, then you’ll have the flames?”

“You can find out,” Johnny said. “If I can walk through the flames untouched, his kingdom is his and he is mine.”

Norman laughed, his head thrown back. “By all means. Have your sad finale.”

“No!” Peter shouted, starting violently forward. There was such a note in his voice that even unflappable Lily took a step away from him.

Instantly, the guard was on him. He fought – one man went down, then two, then three. It hardly seemed an effort for him at all. But where one man fell, another rushed Peter, and finally he succumbed, held down by nearly twelve men. He was still staring at Norman, teeth bared.

“If you touch him –” he began, fearsome even held immobile.

Norman, though, only laughed.

“Oh, my dear prince,” he said. He tilted Johnny’s chin up, his gaze fixed on Johnny’s lips; Johnny forced himself to stay very still. “I already have.”

Peter tried to lunge again and more guards piled on, desperate to keep him down.

“Don’t do this,” Peter said, and it was impossible to tell whether he was talking to Norman or Johnny because he was looking so wildly between them. Johnny could see the spider in the man now, in the way he moved and the wild glint in his eye.

He reached for him and was pulled backwards immediately. Still, Peter tracked the movement of his open palm, saw the caress Johnny was forbidden to give. The noise that left his lips was more animal than man.

“Peter,” Johnny said, and Peter looked at him, desperate and wild. Johnny smiled at him. “I’m the one who was to have you. Don’t worry.”

 

* * *

 

They built the bonfire in the castle courtyard. It took some time – the guests milling leisurely out of the castle, as if they were taking a stroll. The fire pit being built. The first spark of flame, and then gradually the roar as it climbed higher and higher. Johnny watched it all, holding that strange spark in his chest, wordless.

Peter had no shortage of words. Shackled and bound, he thrashed and threatened and cursed. He lunged repeatedly at Norman, only to be pulled back by the dozen guards at the other end of his chains.

“I swear, if you let him do this, Norman, there will be no hiding from me,” he promised, again and again. “I’ll tear you limb from limb.”

Norman, reclining on a throne that had been brought out, merely smiled and said, “My dear prince, you know I’ve always admired your savage streak.”

Peter snarled and Norman laughed.

Johnny just watched the fire.

“Any last words?” Norman asked when he deemed it ready. Two servants came up, one on each side of Johnny, and they held his arms as if he might balk and run.

Peter, who had been eerily silent and still for minutes now, addressed the floor, “I’ll kill you for this.”

“Hmm,” Norman said, smirking. “I was talking to your paramour, my prince.”

“Peter,” Johnny said. “Look at me.”

Peter glanced up, then looked down again, like he couldn’t bear to see him. Johnny’s heart had been broken since he’d spilled the wax; he hadn’t thought it could break more.

Peter, head hung in defeat, said, “Johnny, I beg you, don’t do this to me. Don’t let him take you from me twice.”

“I made you a promise,” Johnny said, though of course Peter had been sleeping and wouldn’t know what he meant. It didn’t matter. Johnny wasn’t leaving him here, in this place, with these people.

“Please,” Peter said, again, voice thick and wet and awful. “I don’t care about the curse anymore. I only wanted you to be happy. I saw you out in the snow that night, and I just wanted you to be happy.”

Johnny only wanted the same for Peter. He took a breath, closed his eyes, and let the Goblin King’s guards thrust him into the flame.

It wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d expected it to hurt – not that he thought it would kill him, but that it was fire and even if he didn’t burn away, he would still feel it. That that would be his price. Johnny had accepted that.

It didn’t hurt. It felt warm. _He_ felt warm – nice, like he’d stepped into a hot bath, or out into the sunlight. It was like he hadn’t known how cold he had been all these years. Johnny had to laugh, and the flames rushed into him, and it was like coming in from the cold, like kissing Peter for the first time.

Norman was still smirking, his chin propped up on one hand. And then Johnny took a step. And another. And slowly, he watched comprehension dawn on him – that Johnny _wasn’t_ burning.

Peter, too, had gone very still. His mouth still hung open, but he was no longer shouting. Johnny tried to smile at him, but he didn’t know if Peter could see it through the fire.

One step, and then another. It was the easiest thing Johnny had ever done. He practically fell through the flames, emerging singed – but unharmed.

Norman’s jeering crowd had fallen silent.

Johnny couldn’t help the smirk as he held up his unburnt hands. “Ta-da.”

Norman’s thunderous expression darkened further, but Peter – Peter burst out laughing, wild and joyous. Johnny’s heart sang with it. Peter turned to Norman, and there was such a light in his eyes.

“Well?” he said. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“This was a trick,” Norman said, voice tight and furious.

“You’re the one who said you know everything that goes on in this castle,” Johnny said, feeling the fire blaze within him. It wasn’t a trick; it was a gift from the sun and a ghost and a thief and a witch, and he’d done it all for Peter’s freedom. He couldn’t help the sneer that crept into his voice. “How could _I_ have tricked _you_?”

Norman was on him before he knew it. It was different than when he’d been attacked while Peter slept – there was nothing calm or calculated about it, just animal rage as he knocked Johnny to the stone floor. Johnny didn’t have to protect Peter this time, though – he struck back, catching Norman across the cheek. One of his hands landed on Norman’s chest as he tried to push him off.

Norman reeled back with a pained shout, clutching at his chest. His shirt had been burned through, and underneath there was a red, angry mark in the shape of Johnny’s hand. He looked as shocked as Johnny felt.

Johnny almost didn’t hear the snap of Peter’s chains breaking.

Peter didn’t give Norman any room to recover. He threw himself on him with a wild yell, fists flying. Johnny had to stumble back to avoid being struck. The first shot to Norman’s jaw knocked him to the ground. Peter was on him immediately. Norman tried to fight back – one of his blows snapped Peter’s head to the side – but Peter was faster, and Peter was angrier.

Peter, Johnny realized, was going to kill him. If nobody stopped him, Peter would kill him.

Someone tried to pull him back, but Johnny tore himself away. He caught Peter’s wrist on the upswing.

“Stop!” he said, holding onto Peter for all he was worth. “Peter, please, stop.”

Peter’s eyes were wild, his breathing was harsh. If he wanted to kill the Goblin King, Johnny wasn’t strong enough to stop him. He squeezed his wrist anyway and Peter turned, wrapping his arms around Johnny and burying his face in his shoulder. Johnny buried one hand in Peter’s hair and clung on for dear life.

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’m alright. I’m here and I came for you. To fix it.”

Peter just took a great shuddering breath. His hands flexed against Johnny, like he wanted to haul him in closer, but then he let go and straightened up, visibly pulling himself back together. He palmed Johnny’s cheek, just for a moment, and then he turned and took the throne.

“Extinguish that fire, and have the former king taken to a cell. There will be no wedding.” He looked up at Johnny, dark eyes smoldering. “Not today.”

 

* * *

 

The palace exploded into activity. Norman was taken away and the courtyard reassembled. The Goblin King’s green and purple hangings were ripped down, and light seemed to spill into every corner of the castle. Suddenly it felt like home.

“Darling boy,” May said, catching him in the chaos. She kissed him on both cheeks. “You freed him.”

“Thanks to you,” Johnny said. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling, he was so happy. The warmth he’d felt when he’d stepped into the fire hadn’t faded. The warmth that flared within him whenever Peter glanced his way was something different altogether.

They didn’t have a chance to be alone together until the evening, there was so much for Peter to do. May had taken charge of the restoration of Peter’s rooms, removing Norman’s things. Johnny had tried to help, but only succeeded in getting underfoot, if the way May dismissed him was any indication. He’d gone out onto the balcony instead to look at the gardens, and that was where Peter found him.

He heard Peter’s voice call his name and he turned just in time for Peter to pull him into a kiss.

“You,” Peter said, warm and real and here, right next to Johnny.

“Me again,” Johnny said, sinking his fingers into Peter’s hair and smiling at him. “It’s very nice to see you. I didn’t get a chance to say that before.”

“It’s nice to be seen,” Peter murmured. His hands closed on Johnny’s waist, fingers flexing like he couldn’t believe Johnny was real. “How --?”

“Yes, I know,” Johnny said. “It was east of the sun and west of the moon, and I’d never find if I searched for a million years.” He let himself smile, palming Peter’s cheek. “But I did.”

Peter leaned in to kiss him again; Johnny met him eagerly.

When he woke the next morning, Peter was asleep beside him.

 

* * *

 

EPILOGUE

 

“She’ll like you,” Johnny said for the tenth time that morning. “Really, she will.”

Peter shot him a faintly betrayed, very disbelieving look. His face looked more like he was a man awaiting the gallows now than it had months ago when he’d been chained in the courtyard of his own castle. Johnny was trying very hard not to laugh at him, and not succeeding in the least.

It was difficult, he supposed, to meet the in-laws, especially if you were wearing your own face for the first time. They weren’t very far now – they could have walked, if they chose – and Peter only seemed to grow more restless as the distance closed.

“I promise,” Johnny added, and his tone must have given away that he was making fun of Peter now, because Peter narrowed his eyes and twisted his mouth to the side. The carriage continued on its way regardless of Peter’s aura of dread.

“Yes, I’m sure she’ll love me,” Peter said, resting his elbow against the window and his head on his hand. “The giant spider monster who stole her brother away, only to disappear on him and make him run away from her home again, here to tell her all about how he walked through an inferno. That’s just what everyone dreams of.”

“I came for you all on my own,” Johnny said, catching Peter’s free hand. He raised it to his lips, kissing his knuckles. Peter’s expression didn’t change, but Johnny could see his eyes soften. “You can’t take responsibility for everything.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue. Johnny placed one finger against his lips. He leaned in to kiss him, and Peter followed suit, and then the glint of sunlight caught Johnny’s eye.

“Wait,” Johnny said, suddenly gripping Peter’s elbow. “Let’s stop here and get out.”

“We’re not there yet,” Peter said, frowning.

“I can see that,” Johnny said, grinning. He cupped a hand to Peter’s face and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Stop the carriage anyway.”

Peter sighed and raised a hand to alert the driver, all the while acting like it was some kind of terrible chore. Johnny snickered at him, tucking his hand into the crook of Peter’s elbow.

The snow was fresh, but not very deep, and fine as powder. Peter grumbled as the climbed out of the carriage, shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare.

“Why are we out here, again?” he asked, frowning at the snow as if it was personally offending him.

Johnny bent down on one knee, running his gloved fingers over the surface of the snow. He couldn’t help smiling.

“Don’t be like that,” he said. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Peter said, kicking at some of it. He looked unimpressed. Johnny didn’t care; it had been forever since he’d seen snow. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. The chill seemed to affect him less than it once had, but he could still feel it start to seep through his gloves.

Johnny flopped down laughing into the snow, spreading his arms and legs. Peter knelt beside him, amusement all over his face.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

Somehow, he didn’t see the handful of snow Johnny flung at his face coming. He grimaced, wiping at his face with his sleeve while Johnny threw his head back laughing. The snow around him was slightly more melted and it dripped wet down Peter’s disgusted face.

“Very mature,” he said.

“Oh, come on,” Johnny said. “When’s the last time you played in the snow?”

“Considering I spent the last few decades trapped as a giant spider while my kingdom hung in magical limbo…” Peter said, still with that ridiculous frown, that line between his eyebrows.

Johnny leaned up, cupping a hand to Peter’s face, fully intent on kissing that look away. Their lips had just brushed when something cold and wet slid down the back of his shirt. He squawked, flailing backward, and now it was Peter who was laughing.

“I can’t believe you fell for that!” he said, slapping his knee. “Oh, the old cursed spider bit. Gets them every time.”

“It’s all down my back!” Johnny said, cringing.

Peter, still laughing like he thought he was the funniest person in the world, never saw the second snowball coming. He spluttered when it connected with the side of his head. Johnny was already in the process of creating another one.

“Dearest,” Peter said, the tone in his voice the one he only used when they were alone, and so full of love that Johnny thought he might drown in it. He brushed snow from his jacket. “Is this a declaration of war?”

Johnny let another snowball to the face be his answer.

Peter spit out a mouthful of it and narrowed his eyes. Johnny was unsurprised to find himself flat on his back in the snow ten seconds later, with Peter braced above him. Johnny playfully struggled in his hold, laughing, but then the sunlight hit Peter from behind, catching in his hair. Johnny hadn’t yet become tired of staring at Peter’s face, into his warm eyes. He had snowflakes melted on his lips, and a few caught in his dark eyelashes.

Most importantly, he was smiling.

“Admit your surrender and I’ll let you go,” he teased, tightening his grip around Johnny’s wrists. The snow was melting around Johnny, seeping into the fabric of his jacket, but Johnny wouldn’t have traded the moment for anything.

“I have a better idea,” he said. “Kiss me.”

Peter’s victory grin turned into something softer. His grip on Johnny relaxed, and Johnny rolled them over, Peter on his back in the snow and Johnny on top of him so he could kiss him, again and again, marveling at his face in the sunshine.

The snow around them didn’t bother him any. The fire inside him would keep them both warm.

Finally, Peter turned his head to murmur in Johnny’s ear, “Your sister’s waiting.”

Johnny sighed and climbed to his feet, offering a hand to Peter. He dusted the snow from Peter’s shoulders, straightening his jacket a little.

“Your hair’s a disaster,” Johnny said, curling his hand in it as he kissed Peter’s cheek. “My sister’s going to think we were fooling around on the way over.”

Peter made a face. “That sounds much more fun than you ambushing me in the snow.”

Johnny shaded his eyes against the glare of the sun. He could just see the house in the distance; if he closed his eyes, he could picture Sue standing at the window, waiting for them. He remembered the last time he had come this way with Peter.

Feeling nostalgic, he said, “Sometimes I miss when you were a spider. I have to walk everywhere myself now.”

“Well?” Peter said, sighing. “Get up on my back already.”

Johnny laughed out loud, delighted, as he jumped on him. Peter pretended to stumble, grabbing Johnny’s thighs from behind. Johnny would his arms around Peter’s neck and nipped at his ear.

“Happy now?” Peter asked him, but there was a smirk in his voice.

“Ecstatic,” Johnny said. “I’m with you, aren’t I?”

“Well, we’ll see what your sister has to say about me now,” Peter said, hooking his hands behind Johnny’s knees. “Maybe the third time will be the charm.”

“It’s true that you were better looking last time,” Johnny said, laughing when Peter groaned. “Relax. She’ll love you.”

Johnny slipped from his grasp and took his hand instead. He squeezed Peter’s fingers in his own and together, they walked hand-in-hand through the snow towards Johnny’s sister’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](traincat.tumblr.com)!


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